Crime Always Pays
by I heart Lyoko
Summary: Marcus Thompson was set up after the heist of a lifetime, left to be caught by the law. His journey for money and revenge will bring him from Liberty City to San Andreas, and he'll meet friends and enemies along the way. Follow Marcus on his jobs and see him hunt down the man responsible for his capture. Some people say: "Crime doesn't pay."... But to Marcus, crime ALWAYS pays.
1. Heist of a Lifetime

**(I DO NOT own the Grand Theft Auto series, or any of the names or brands that appear, but I do own most if not all of the OC's that will appear in this story. That being said, I hope you enjoy.)**

* * *

 _August 17th, 2006. Liberty City, Algonquin Island. The Exchange._

* * *

At the Bank of Liberty City, a black van parked in the front. Inside, four men and a driver were getting ready, all dressed in black suits and ties... The men armed themselves with their AK47 assault rifles, while one of the men had a Remington 870 shotgun, modified to be fully automatic. All of them had M67 grenades, M1911 pistols, combat knives, and even a wooden baseball bat.

This was gonna set them up for life... This robbery was gonna make them all rich... Over thirty million dollars... EACH...

One of the robbers, Marcus Thompson, was the best safecracker in all of New England, which is precisely why they chose him for this job. The leader of the job was a man named Ivan Dorborovsky, a Russian-born criminal who's very professional. He was probably the best-skilled bank robber in Liberty City, if not the entire east coast...

"Is everyone ready to get a paycheck today?" Ivan asked, smirking.

Marcus nodded and looked at the other robbers and the driver, remembering their rolls in the heist they were about to pull off. Bryan Dempsey was the one who had the baseball bat, and he was working with Jeff Greene, both on crowd control. Their driver, Eddie Toh, was the one to drive them away once they got the cash, hopefully outrunning the police response. All of the robbers nodded in confirmation after putting on their matching black balaclavas, readying their weapons as they did.

"We're ready to rock and roll!" Bryan said.

The man who was responsible for the hacking and other cyber things for this job, Lester Crest, proceeded to send them a video-feed of the security cameras on a large computer in the back of the truck.

"Okay, you guys ready for this? I don't plan on heading to San Andreas without _some_ cash with me at least..." Lester said over their earpieces.

"Yeah, Lest, we're ready to go." Ivan replied, smirking.

Eddie turned his head and looked in the back of the van, seeing the robbers were all indeed ready to get their payday.

"I'll keep the engine running." Eddie told them.

Marcus kicked open the back doors of the van, readying his AK47 as he climbed out. Horrified onlookers saw him and the rest of the robbers run towards the front doors of the Bank of Liberty City. Ivan and Jeff kicked open the doors, showing the people inside that they were about to get their money stolen. The guards pulled out their Berettas, but they were quickly knocked out by Bryan and Marcus. Jeff put a plastic zip-tie on the doorhandles, not wanting anyone to escape.

Ivan smirked as he climbed on top of a table, firing off a shell from his shotgun to get everyone's attention.

"Listen up assholes!" Ivan called out. "We're taking all of your fuckin' money! This ain't negotiable! Get your faces to the floor, and you'll live!" He said as Bryan and Jeff worked on getting all of the horrified people into a corner of the room. "And if you try to be a hero, you'll be shot!" Ivan added.

Marcus went through a security door, going right into the tellers area. He knocked out a man with the butt of his rifle, getting on a table and aiming his gun at everything moving.

"Don't be a hero! Get on the floor!" Marcus growled.

An employee raised his hands, fearfully looking up at Marcus. "But sir-" The man began to say before Marcus shoved his rifle into his face. "You too!" Marcus ordered.

The employee didn't say another word, too fearful for his life as he quickly went to the floor, putting his hands over his head like he was supposed to. Marcus went off of the table as Jeff ran in, knowing he was assigned to control everyone in this area. Marcus ran down a flight of stairs with a dufflebag in his hand, looking for the vault...

"How's it coming, Mark?" Lester asked. "The guys upstairs say the crowd is getting a little antsy." he said.

Marcus quickly went through a hallway, seeing the vault at the end of it.

"I'm almost there, Lester. Just tell them to keep them busy for as long as they can, I still need to get inside the vault." Marcus replied.

"Copy that. Let me know when you get inside and I'll send Ivan and Jeff down to help get the cash." Lester replied.

Marcus went through another security door, revealing that he was now in the room that was with the vault. Marcus smirked, walking to the vault and setting down the dufflebag. He opened it, pulling out an industrial cutting torch. Marcus aimed the nozzle at one of the two locks that was keeping the door shut, and he proceeded to start trying to cut through them.

Upstairs, Bryan was near the door and helping to keep the crowd under control. He went wide eyed, however, seeing several LCPD police cars and vans coming down the street. The police stopped their cars in the front of the bank, several SWAT teams coming out of the back of the police vans as the officers aimed their weapons at the front doors of the bank, and at the robber's van.

Eddie Toh had a shocked look, seeing the large amount of cops.

"What the fuck?!" Eddie asked. "You said you wouldn't let anyone trip the alarm! I'm not dying for you assholes!" he growled.

Bryan groaned, seeing Eddie quickly driving away from the scene... resulting in them losing their getaway ride. Bryan shut the doors, but not before seeing an LCPD Maverick helicopter arrive. As the police and SWAT teams waited outside, Marcus cut through the last lock to the vault door, putting down the cutting tool and then pulling open the door. Marcus went wide eyed, seeing not only millions of hundred dollar bills, but also some gold coins and solid gold ingots.

"Lester, I'm in! Jesus, there's _so much_ fucking cash in here! I don't think we can take all of it!" Marcus said, wide eyed.

"Just take everything you can carry!" Lester replied as Marcus went to work filling his dufflebag. "I'll get Ivan to go down and help you!"

Marcus kept loading his dufflebag with stacks of twenties, fifties, and hundreds, saving the gold bars and coins for Ivan's bag. After Marcus got over one hundred million dollars in his bag, Ivan ran into the vault, going wide eyed at the large amount of money and gold he saw.

"Holy fuck!" Ivan exclaimed, shocked. "There's enough here for us _all_ to enjoy!" he added, smirking as he went to load stacks of hundreds into his bag, along with all the gold bars and coins that he could.

Marcus nodded in agreement, filling his bag with all the money he could. He even stuffed a few stacks of hundreds in his coat pockets, wanting a little extra. "Let's just be glad Lester got the right frequency for the dye-packs!" Marcus stated. "This all would've been for nothing if not for that!" he added.

Ivan laughed, filling his dufflebag with over one-hundred and fifty million dollars, and several more million worth of gold.

"This is easier than I thought!" Ivan remarked as he and Marcus picked up their guns. "I should've done this years ago!" Ivan added.

Marcus laughed, totally agreeing with Ivan as he hoisted the dufflebag onto his shoulder, holding his AK with his free hand. The two men ran up the stairs and back out through the tellers area, finding Bryan and Jeff taking cover by the doors.

"Holy shit!" Jeff exclaimed, seeing the bags were entirely full. "How much did you get?!" he asked.

"We got enough! Where's Eddie?" Ivan asked.

Bryan groaned, noticing another LCPD helicopter fly over the large glass dome on the roof. "Eddie's gone! Fucking cut and ran when he saw all of the cops coming!" Bryan explained, frowning.

"Just fucking perfect! Shit, we'll have to go with plan B! Use one of the LCPD armored vans!" Ivan said.

Marcus glared at Ivan, everyone knowing it was an incredibly dumb idea. Take on the entire Liberty City Police Department just to steal one of their vans?!

"Ivan, it won't work!" Marcus stated, readying his AK. "We should try for the subway and get out through there!" he stated.

"We can't argue about this right now! We need to get the fuck outta here before the pigs kill us!" Bryan intervened, frowning.

Ivan adjusted his dufflebag, quickly loading an extra shell into his shotgun as he looked at the others.

"I'm not losing my fuckin' money..." Ivan told them, firmly. "I'm NOT doing twenty for a bank robbery, and I'm retiring a rich man, so everyone just shut up, kill all the pigs in your way, and get the goddamn van!" he ordered.

"Yeah, we're ready... Jeff, get the doors." Marcus said.

Jeff nodded, quickly running to the doors. He set down his AK47 and pulled out his knife, using it to cut the zip-tie he placed earlier. He picked up his gun and quickly opened the door, going wide eyed at what he saw... There was several LCPD snipers on the roof across from the bank, all zeroed in on Jeff's head and chest.

Marcus, Bryan, and Ivan all quickly backed away from the doors as they saw Jeff get shot dead by the snipers. Over fifteen bullets were in Jeff's body as it fell onto the floor, dead before he hit it.

"Holy shit!" Bryan exclaimed, shocked at the death.

Ivan growled, picking up Jeff's AK47. Together with his shotgun, he started walking out of the bank, shooting from both hands and killing every cop he saw in front of him. The snipers aimed at him, but Bryan and Marcus quickly took them out as they followed Ivan to one of the vans, shooting at anything that was moving around them. Ivan opened the back doors of an empty armored van, putting his and Marcus's dufflebags inside of the back of the van.

"Bryan, you're driving!" Ivan ordered as he and Marcus got in the back. Bryan quickly got in the driver's seat as Marcus and Ivan closed the backdoors, and as the LCPD Maverick noticed them.

"This is the LCPD! Get on the ground!" the pilot ordered from the loudspeaker on the helicopter.

Ivan kicked open the backdoors as Bryan started driving, revealing that he found a MILKOR M32 MGL grenade launcher. The chopper got close and Ivan fired off a forty millimeter grenade at the chopper, seeing it hit right in the co-pilot seat. After the chopper was hit dead-on, Marcus and Ivan watched with shock as they saw it crash into an apartment building in neighboring Chinatown, killing the pilot and probably anyone near the building itself.

"HOLY FUCK!" Bryan exclaimed, seeing it all happen from his rear-view window. "DID YOU FUCKING SEE THAT SHIT?!" He asked, shocked beyond belief.

Ivan laughed as the LCPD police cars caught up, easily turning them into burning hulks of metal with his new grenade launcher. He enjoyed blowing the cars up as they started heading towards The Triangle and wanting to get to Star Junction, hoping to lose at least some of the police in the traffic.

Marcus simply shot at the stragglers and survivors with an M16A4 he found in the van, loving the sight of them winning their score. But he also noticed that as they went on Burlesque street, they were on the wrong side of the road!

"Okay, I've hacked into the LCPD mainframe and I'm diverting as many of them as I can." Lester said, hiding his smirk. "I've got most of them thinking you're in different areas in the city. But some of them already saw you in The Triangle and I can't do anything about them." he said.

"I've got a grenade launcher! I'll take care of these pricks!" Ivan replied, laughing.

Marcus shot the driver of one of the police cars, making it go out of control and crash right into a local Burger Shot restaurant, killing a bystander or two in the crash. Bryan then made a sharp turn and started driving into The Triangle, leading the remaining LCPD cars towards it to hopefully lose them. Marcus groaned as he saw he was out of ammunition, tossing his M16A4 out of the van and switching to his M1911, firing on some of the cars. Suddenly, Marcus felt a pair of hands pull him up and push him to the wall of the van...

Ivan smirked as he pinned Marcus to the wall, taking his pistol and his knife and tossing them out of the van. "Sorry Marcus... But I'll get your share if I ditch you right now..." Ivan said to him.

Marcus went wide eyed, realizing what Ivan was about to do. "You treacherous piece of shit!" Marcus growled.

Ivan punched Marcus in the face and then proceeded to throw him out of the van, making Marcus land right in the middle of Star Junction. Marcus saw Ivan waving sarcastically before he shut the doors of the van, which made its getaway through the streets of Liberty City.

"Marcus?! Are you there?!" Lester asked, concerned.

Marcus coughed and stood up, brushing himself off as he looked around. Suddenly, several LCPD police cars appeared from the streets, stopping and making a large circle around him. Officers exited their cars and aimed their Glocks and their shotguns at him, knowing he had nowhere to go... Marcus sighed, frowning at the cops as he raised his hands.

"Lester... You might wanna cut the connection now..." Marcus stated, not wanting his friend to get caught.

As Lester did as he was told and cut the connection to Marcus's earpiece, ensuring he wouldn't be caught. Several police officers started running towards Marcus, one tackling him as another put a pair of handcuffs on the now-arrested bank robber...

This wasn't the first time Marcus was busted, but he knew this one was gonna be the one he hated most...

* * *

 _Four Weeks Later..._

The trial was short, less than fifteen minutes before the verdict was confirmed. All of the jurors knew he was guilty after listening to the witnesses and surviving officers from the robbery... Marcus was screwed, and he knew it. He took a few quick looks at the witnesses and the surviving officers, seeing all of them had either frowns, tears, or determination... Marcus even recognized one of the witnesses and remembered he shoved a gun right in his face, and he recognized one of the officers because he knew he _shot_ him in the face, apparently only hitting him in the ear because of the visible wound.

"Please rise." the bailiff said to the defendant. Marcus and his court-appointed lawyer stood up, seeing the judge get to the podium. The judge sat down, taking a quick glare at Marcus before he looked at the jury.

"Has the jury reached a verdict?" The judge asked.

One of the jury members stood up, nodding in confirmation. "We have, your honor." she said.

The bailiff walked over to the jury member, taking a piece of paper from her. He walked it back over to the judge and handed it to him, getting back to his spot as the judge took a long, hard, thoughtful look at the paper... The judge then sat it down, taking off his glasses and looking down at Marcus.

"Marcus James Thompson... For your crimes against this city, and against this great country... This court hereby sentences you to life in prison without ANY possibility of parole..." The Judge said, almost growling at Marcus.

Marcus sighed, shaking his head as he heard his sentence... Spending the rest of his life behind bars?

"Your sentence will be fulfilled in Alderney State Correctional Facility in the state of Alderney... You will stay for a period of two years before being transferred to a maximum-security prison that is yet to be determined... Count yourself lucky you have not received the death penalty, Mister Thompson." The judge said, frowning. "And may god have mercy on you, you evil abomination." he added.

Marcus kept standing as everyone else sat down, knowing he was allowed a statement if he chose to. He simply smirked at the witnesses and officers before he turned to look back at the judge, smirking as he raised both his middle fingers at him.

"I'd _'respectfully'_ like to tell you, the jury, and this entire justice system to go fuck yourselves, you stupid old fuck." Marcus rudely said, smirking.

The judge had a furious look as he banged his gavel. "BAILIFF! GET THIS SON OF A BITCH OUT OF MY COURTROOM!" he roared, furious at the cockiness of the murderer in front of him. Marcus laughed at him, the surviving officers, the witnesses, and everyone else in the courtroom as the bailiff started leading him out...

Marcus laughed until the bailiff hit him in the stomach with his nightstick, causing Marcus to fall to his knees and cough with pain. Marcus groaned as another bailiff came and helped the other bailiff drag Marcus to a holding cell, quickly tossing him in and locking the door behind him.

As Marcus waited for the journey to prison, he sat down on the bed that was in the holding cell, losing his laughter. He frowned as he thought about Ivan Dorborovsky, remembering how he was betrayed by him and made off with all of the money...

He silently swore that if he ever escaped then he'd kill that son of a bitch...

* * *

(REVIEWS ARE LOVE!)


	2. Freedom

_Seven Years Later._

 _Sometime in 2013. Boilingbroke Penitentiary. Blaine County, San Andreas._

* * *

Inmate 493-0224, Marcus Thompson, was busy lifting weights in the prison yard, frowning as he lifted the heavy iron. His good friend Maxim Rashkovsky was nearby, a professor at something that Marcus was never told about. As the two friends were in the yard, Rashkovsky curiously looked at Marcus.

"Do you ever get tired of it in here?" Rashkovsky asked.

Marcus shrugged as he put the weights in it's holder, sitting up on his bench. "I don't... I've been in prison for a while and I can handle it." Marcus replied, shrugging.

Rashkovsky kept reading out of a science book as Marcus sat down next to him, both thinking on freedom from their prison. Little did Marcus know, however, is that Professor Rashkovsky had a plan... A plan that was going to be put in action that very day...

Marcus sighed, shaking his head. "I hated it in Alderney, but the shit here makes me wanna go back... The entire state was a fuckin' dump." he said, adding in the last sentence.

"I know, comrade." Rashkovsky said, nodding. "But what if I could tell you that I have a way out of here?" he asked.

Marcus scoffed, taking Rashkovsky's book and setting it down so he could get a better look at the expression on his face. "Maxim, only because I think it's funny, I'd love to hear your idea." Marcus replied, rolling his eyes.

Rashkovsky shrugged, leaning close to Marcus. "I need your word you will not tell another soul about this plan, comrade." Rashkovsky whispered.

"I promise, now what is it?" Marcus asked, getting a little annoyed at the secrecy.

Rashkovsky was about to tell Marcus before the speakers sounded, signaling all of the inmates to return inside of the main building for their food.

"Damn... I'll have to tell you about it later. Meet me out here later, okay?" Rashkovsky asked.

Marcus nodded, but stayed where he was as Rashkovsky stood up. "Okay, but I think I'll just stay out here. I'm not hungry." Marcus replied.

Rashkovsky shrugged, taking Marcus's answer as he walked with the other prisoners back towards the main building. Marcus simply started reading from Rashkovsky's book, just out of curiosity...

His friend was pretty strange, but he was also pretty smart...

* * *

Not far away from Boilingbroke Penitentiary, two criminals met near an old scrapyard, right in front of a stolen prison bus. The two criminals were dressed as a prison guard and an inmate, both preparing for their objective...

Break Maxim Rashkovsky out of prison.

The two criminals boarded the bus with the 'guard' in the driver's seat. Both of them were prepared to shoot their way out of Boilingbroke if they had to... or put a bullet in their own skulls to avoid capture.

As the 'prison guard' drove out onto the road leading towards Boilingbroke, they kept their mind focused on the job in front of them, the responsibility of getting the professor out of Boilingbroke...

But mostly, the 'prison guard' was thinking on how they were going to spend all of their money once this was over... Over one hundred grand was on the line for each of them, and this was no time for fuckups...

* * *

A few minutes after the two criminals left the scrapyard, and after eating his lunch, Rashkovsky returned to find that Marcus had read through the entire book. "Did you enjoy reading that?" Rashkovsky asked.

Marcus shrugged, closing the book and tossing it away, literally even more bored because of the topics inside of the paperback book. "No, not at all, but I have literally nothing else to read." he said, sighing.

Rashkovsky sat down next to Marcus and leaned his head on the cement wall behind him.

"I think you're still curious about the thing I wanted to tell you, am I right?" Rashkovsky asked.

Marcus sighed, rolling his eyes before he nodded and stood up, walking to the front of Rashkovsky and looking down at him. "All right, Maxim. I'd just _love_ to hear about this 'plan' of yours. Shoot." Marcus said, sarcastically.

Rashkovsky smirked, looking up at his friend. "Okay... So, it involves some contacts of mine, along with some people they 'hired'. Look, one of them is going to fly a plane to the airfield a little ways from here, and the rest-" he began.

The professor was interrupted by an alarm sounding all around the prison, along with several gunshots ringing out from somewhere not far from their location. Some gunshots appeared to come from a standard-issue nine millimeter pistol used by guards and criminals alike, and the rest of the gunshots appeared to come from an assault rifle of some sort; possibly a G36C 'Special Carbine'.

The prison was under attack!

"What the fuck!?" Marcus asked, surprised at hearing the gunshots. "What the hell is going on?!" he asked.

Rashkovsky laughed a little, seeing Marcus's reaction. "Comrade, I tried telling you! I'm being busted out of this shithole! I'd like for you to come with me." Rashkovsky said, smiling.

Marcus sighed as he looked at his friend, and he shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Maxim, but I'll make my own way out. I'm sure whoever's attacking wouldn't know I'm coming with, right? I'm better off finding a different way out." Marcus said, smiling with confidence as he knew the people attacking were for Rashkovsky, and not him.

Rashkovsky nodded, returning a smile to Marcus. They both gave each other a quick hug before Marcus patted him on the back, breaking the hug.

"Goodbye my friend." Marcus said.

"Goodbye comrade." Rashkovsky replied.

Marcus nodded and quickly ran off as he heard the firefight was getting closer. He saw prisoners running from the scene and the prison guards fighting back whoever was attacking. Marcus kept a tight hold on a shank he had hidden in his sleeve...

He wasn't going to take any chances... TODAY was the day he was getting out of this shithole!

Marcus noticed a guard was shooting at the two attackers, and for some reason he noticed a Velum propeller aircraft in the air being attacked by fighter jets; the jets may have been dispatched from Fort Zancudo which was about a few miles away. In any event Marcus ran to the guard and stabbed him right in the neck with his shank, quickly stealing the guard's nine millimeter Beretta from him.

Marcus also noticed that a Buzzard attack helicopter was in the air and defending the Velum. He knew that plane had to be what Rashkovsky was going to escape in... He took a quick look back at Rashkovsky and went wide eyed as he saw two prisoners beating him to a bloody pulp.

"RASHKOVSKY!" Marcus shouted, shocked at what was happening to his friend.

But then he saw the 'inmate' run towards Rashkovsky, killing the two prisoners who were beating him up. Marcus could see the 'inmate' hand Rashkovsky a pistol before he stood up. A few words were spoken by Rashkovsky but Marcus was too far away to hear exactly what was being said by him.

The 'inmate' and Rashkovsky were met by the 'prison guard', and the three of them started fighting against the prison guards. Marcus noticed that the guards were joined by the National Office Of Security Enforcement; or 'NOOSE' to be specific. But Marcus quickly ran from the scene and into the main building, hoping to get out through the front door and get a car. Surprisingly, he found no guards waiting to stop him on account that they were all either dead or fighting the people bringing out Rashkovsky.

Marcus kicked open the front doors of the visitors center, going wide eyed with what he saw. The two criminals and Rashkovsky were in a Blaine County Police Department armored van, driving away from several BCPD helicopters and police cars that were chasing after them.

Marcus didn't waste any time. He saw a nearby police cruiser and he ran to it. There was a cop inside, but Marcus simply shot him in the head and opened the driver's door, pulling the body out and making sure to immediately drive as fast as the car could possibly could. Only two police cars went after him as the rest of the BCPD stayed on Rashkovsky and the criminals.

"Jesus Christ, Maxim!" Marcus exclaimed, seeing it all happen in his rear-view mirror.

The Buzzard then started blowing the police helicopters out of the sky as the Velum landed at Sandy Shores Airfield, needing to get the professor out of Blaine County as soon as possible. Marcus stopped for a moment on Panorama Drive, because he noticed the two police cars were blown up by the Buzzard...

He owed the pilot a drink if he ever met them...

Marcus saw the criminals park the armored truck next to the Velum, with the 'inmate' and 'prison guard' fighting off the remaining police officers as Rashkovsky got on the plane. The pilot of the Buzzard used rockets to blow up several police cars as the 'inmate' and 'prison guard' boarded the plane with Rashkovsky. Marcus had an impressed look as the Velum pilot started going down the runway and then took off; the Buzzard pilot following them...

"Damn..." Marcus muttered, wide eyed. "They could teach ME a thing or two..." he said to himself.

Marcus tried to keep driving but the police car stayed in place. Marcus rose an eyebrow, wondering what the hell was going on with his car. He looked through the back window and quickly got his answer. A gas trail was on the asphalt, leading all the way to him. He knew a fuel line must have been punctured somehow during the driving.

Marcus hit the steering wheel in frustration as he heard and saw police sirens in the distance... he had to get out of the area, he knew it. Marcus got out of the police car and kept a tight hold on his Beretta as he started running directly into the desert, hoping to lose the cops somewhere in there...

He knew it was near-suicidal, but what choice did he have...?

He was NOT going back to jail...

* * *

After several hours of running through the 110 degree desert, Marcus got close to Sandy Shores, a small town on the Alamo Sea. He was literally praying the police wouldn't notice him now that he was out of his orange jumpsuit...

He was literally running through the Great Senora Desert in his underwear and white t-shirt...

But because of a lack of water and strength, Marcus collapsed in the sand, literally within view of Sandy Shores. Marcus struggled to keep conscious and to keep crawling towards the town, but the lack of strength quickly made him stop.

Struggling not to pass out, he went wide eyed as a man appeared in his eyesight. The man had on a dirty and smelly beige t-shirt, and grey sweatpants covered in blood and other bodily fluids...

The smelly man smirked as he saw Marcus lying on the ground, going to him and snatching up his pistol from him.

"What have we here?" the man asked, casually sitting down on a rock and looking at Marcus. "Please don't feed the crows, I just gave them a body the other day!" the man said, not joking at all.

Marcus coughed, literally struggling not to puke at the smell of the strange and creepy man.

"W- Water..." Marcus whispered, weakly.

The man stood up and put Marcus's pistol in his waistband. The man went to a redish Canis Bodhi truck and pulled a bottle of whiskey out from the glove compartment, showing it out to Marcus.

"Stop whining! God, you sound like this guy I know, he whines about _everything!_ His ex-wife, his disgust of me fucking a corpse, and even getting shot at every other day of the week!" the man said, casually sitting on the hood of his truck and taking a long drink of his whiskey.

The smelly man smirked, seeing Marcus was only in his underwear and shirt. "You run away from a BDSM whorehouse, or something, kid? You guzzling some cock in a dark alley? Heh... That takes me back..." the man said, appearing to be reminiscing something.

Marcus used all of his strength to crawl up to a separate rock, leaning on it and looking back at the man. "W- What the fuck is _wrong_ with you...?" Marcus weakly asked.

"Oh, _tons_ of things! My dad abandoned me at the mall when I was a little boy, my best friend's been dead for ten years, I never got to fly for the air force, and the Lost Leather Club is screwing up my shipments because I'm fucking Johnny K's girl! Well, she does it for a lot of crystal meth, but it's the _fucking_ that counts, right?" the man asked before chugging his whiskey.

Marcus frowned, getting a little annoyed at the man as he saw him chugging his whiskey. The man sighed as he drank the entire bottle, still looking down at Marcus.

"And another thing... What the fuck are you doing out here in your underwear?" the man asked curiously as he held his now-empty bottle.

"C- Christ, man, just give me s- some fucking water!" Marcus growled.

The man frowned and walked over to Marcus, smashing the bottle on the top of his head and knocking him out. The man tossed away the remains of the bottle that was in his hand as he saw Marcus fall over onto the sand, unconscious.

The man glared down at Marcus, kicking his body only because he could. "LEARN SOME FUCKING MANNERS!" The man growled.

Another man ran from the truck, a man with a red jacket, glasses, and a grey rainhat. The man had a surprised look as he saw Marcus was laying unconscious on the sand, and his boss was kicking his unconscious body.

"Nice job, Trevor!" the man said, smirking. "The guy had it coming, didn't he? No one pisses you off and gets away with it!" he added.

The smelly man, now known as 'Trevor', turned and frowned at the other guy as he stopped kicking.

"You're gonna play 'ass-kisser' now, Ron?" Trevor scolded, frowning.

The other man, now known as 'Ron', went wide eyed as he saw Trevor glaring at him. "O- Of course not, T!" Ron replied, fearfully. "I- I was just saying this guy was the one who did something wrong! Obviously not you!" he said.

Trevor went and grabbed Marcus by his arms, hoisting him up onto his shoulders as he looked at Ron.

"I've got a good feeling this guy could be useful... Or a good sex slave. Maybe good for eating! NOW GET IN THE FUCKING TRUCK!" Trevor shouted.

Without another word, Ron ran to the passenger seat of Trevor's truck and quickly got inside. Trevor grunted as he threw Marcus into the bed of the truck, smirking at himself as he then got into the driver's seat. Neither he or Ron said another word as Trevor put 'Channel X' radio on, driving back towards his trailer...

Trevor Philips had plans for Marcus...

* * *

(REVIEWS ARE LOVE!)


	3. The Lost MC

_The Next Day. Sandy Shores, Blaine County. Around noon or one PM._

* * *

Marcus slowly opened his eyes, seeing he was laying on a couch in some trailer. He groaned as he sat up, struggling not to puke at the smell that was inside of the trailer. The entire trailer was a pigsty with empty booze bottles, old rotten food, dozens of empty cigarette packs, bullet casings, a few guns and knives, and lots and lots of blood, vomit, and urine stains. Marcus went wide eyed, however, as he heard loud noises coming out of the bathroom.

"GET IN THERE! **AGGGGGH!** " A voice said.

Marcus got up, limping towards the bathroom. He went wide eyed as he saw what was causing the noises... Trevor was trying to flush a severed human leg down the toilet, with no success whatsoever.

"FUCKING- **AGGGGGH! JUST FUCKING GET IN THERE!** " Trevor shouted, angrily kicking the leg as water poured out from the now-overflowing toilet.

Trevor angrily screamed, his fists clenching as he hit the closest thing to him, which turned out to be Marcus. Marcus fell onto the floor, angrily frowning at Trevor as he held his now-bloody nose.

Trevor, however, froze. He smirked as he realized that Marcus finally woke up.

"About time you woke up there, kid... I was worried I'd have to use your rotting corpse to smuggle crank to Vice City." Trevor said, smirking.

Marcus stood up and returned a punch to Trevor, hitting him right in the nose. Trevor fell over onto his kitchen countertop, wide eyed at what just happened. He then smirked as he stood back up. He grabbed Marcus by the shoulders before pulling him into a hug, much to Marcus's confusion.

"OH, YOU'RE PERFECT!" Trevor shouted, happily.

Marcus went wide eyed and pushed Trevor off of him, absolutely confused as to who exactly this guy was, and why the hell he was always acting like this.

"What- What the fuck is wrong with you?!" Marcus asked in disbelief.

"What's wrong with _me?_ What's wrong with _you?_ WHO CARES! You work for ME now! You work for _'Trevor Philips Industries'_!" Trevor said as he pushed Marcus onto the couch. Marcus had a completely confused look as another man walked in, and this man had black and white facepaint on, and a black tank top that had the words 'Fatal Incursion' written on it in red.

"Wade! There you are, you little shit!" Trevor growled, walking over to Wade. Marcus then saw Trevor punch Wade in the jaw, sending Wade falling onto the floor. Wade had a fearful look as he held his nose, looking up at Trevor.

"WHERE THE FUCK IS IT?!" Trevor asked, his rage getting the better of him.

"I- I think t- the Lost has it, Trevor! J- Just don't hit me again! I found it!" Wade pleaded.

Trevor snarled a little before walking back and forth in his trailer, pretty angry with Wade being late with the news. Marcus rose an eyebrow, seeing the exchange taking place in front of him. He was also confused by the way Wade spoke, it was like Wade lost some of his tongue, or something. How he spoke just seemed REALLY weird to him.

"What are you talking about?" Marcus asked.

"Wade here was supposed to find out where my crystal was after it got stolen! And now it appears that the FUCKING LOST HAS IT! _Fucking Johnny K.!_ And Wade here took too long with the information, **SO NOW I HAVE TO FUCKING DICIPLINE HIM**!" Trevor shouted.

Marcus then saw Trevor kick Wade in the stomach as he was on the ground. Wade coughed, holding his stomach with an obvious look of pain on his face. Marcus walked in front of Trevor, frowning at how he treats Wade.

"Maybe I can go get your crystal back?" Marcus offered. "I know my way around a gun. Especially around some methed-out bikers." he added.

Trevor looked like he was about to back-hand Marcus, giving him a real good bitch slap in the face because of his rage. But Trevor gained control of himself and looked at Marcus, as if he just received a good idea.

"Yeah... You know what? _Yeah..._ But I'm coming with. We're getting my crystal back, and we're gonna get a little extra... Guns, cash, and whatever we find there is gonna get _requisitioned_ to us. I'll even give you some if you don't end up dead, or a biker's fuck-toy." Trevor said with a smirk.

Marcus nodded, knowing he was gonna need some cash. He also hoped that because of this he could find a good gun or two, maybe even a truck or a bike for himself. He obviously didn't want to work for Trevor Philips... actually, he kinda wanted to get as far away from the psycho as he could. But he also knew that Trevor was a good source of work, and also probably a lot of money. What choice did he have?

"I'll work for you... I'll work for _'Trevor Philips Industries',_ but I expect to be paid for whatever I do." Marcus said, firmly.

Trevor smirked as Wade stood up, leaning on the kitchen counter to support his weakened stature. Trevor walked into the bathroom and pulled the severed leg out of the toilet, and showed it off to Marcus.

"Got this from a Lost lieutenant... I got his jacket in my truck and I have a good idea for you. Now, what's your name?" Trevor asked, just out of curiosity.

Marcus stared at the leg as if he just saw a ghost. He was shocked beyond belief. What the hell was Trevor's problem?!

"M- Marcus Thompson..." Marcus replied, still incredibly shocked at the strange severed leg.

"That is the DUMBEST name I have ever heard... I'm Trevor Philips. If you find any gun, drug, or corpse in the Alamo Sea region, chances are it's from me." Trevor replied as an introduction.

Marcus nodded as Trevor gestured to Wade. Trevor smirked as he wrapped his arm around Wade's neck, pulling him in as tightly as he could.

"And this little ball of shit is my boy Wade!" Trevor said, loving the feeling of crushing a neck.

Wade coughed and gasped for air as he began being suffocated by Trevor. Trevor, in turn, suddenly let go of Wade before he hit him in the stomach with the severed leg, literally 'kicking' Wade with the foot at the end. Wade coughed as he fell onto the ground, quickly crawling out of Trevor's trailer so he wouldn't get hit by him again. Surprisingly, Trevor let Wade go and he put the severed leg onto the kitchen counter, near a microwave.

"Might heat that up later..." Trevor muttered under his breath.

Trevor gestured to the door as he started walking out. Marcus followed him out and he saw the outside of the trailer for the first time. The trailer was an absolute dump with garbage and old furniture out on the sandy lawn. Hundreds of old paper bags, cigarette packs, bottles, broken bottles, and even a refrigerator were strewn out all over it. Marcus followed Trevor to his truck, seeing a couple of Mini-Uzi's and a Lost MC leather jacket were in the bed of the truck.

Marcus saw Ron come out of the trailer next door, quickly running to Trevor before he would get angry at him. Ron saw Wade crawling down the road and he REALLY didn't want to end up like how he did.

Trevor saw Ron run up, and the look on his face instantly turned into a frown.

" **RONALD! WHAT THE FUCK TOOK YOU SO LONG?!** " Trevor shouted, angrily.

Ron panted as he stopped running, the hundred degree weather taking a toll on him. He panted as he looked at Trevor, a fearful look was plastered on his face.

"S- Sorry, Trev! I- I was talking with my ex-wife on the phone! She said she might sue me again..." Ron said.

"Who fucking cares?! What more can a whore take from a pathetic piece of turd like you?" Trevor asked, bluntly.

Ron nodded in agreement, much to the surprise of Marcus...

"You're absolutely right, Trevor!" Ron agreed. "You're right! I'm a pathetic piece of turd, just like you say, T! Absolutely!" he added.

"Just shut the fuck up and get in the truck! You're sitting in the back!" Trevor ordered. "Mark! You're up front with Uncle T." he said.

Ron ran to the truck and hoped into the back, holding onto the side. Marcus rose an eyebrow as Trevor tossed him the Lost MC jacket, a pair of blue jeans, brown work boots, a desert-tan t-shirt, and handed him one of the Mini-Uzi's, a knife, and an iFRUIT phone.

"Put that cut on! You're the guy going in... The second you find the crank you call me, then we kill every single one of them! Actually, wait, we'll do it either way. But... FUCK! JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP AND DO AS I SAY!" Trevor shouted, randomly.

Marcus didn't want to piss off Trevor, so he put on the Lost MC jacket, the rest of the clothes, and put the iFRUIT phone in the pocket of his blue jeans, and he readied his Mini-Uzi. Marcus looked in the door mirror of the truck, liking the look of himself in the jacket, jeans, shirt, and boots. After this was done he might just simply keep the jacket and rip off all of the Lost patches that were sewn on it as keepsakes.

Marcus got into the passenger seat, and Trevor drove out of his driveway. He drove onto Cat-Claw avenue and then started going down East Joshua Road, heading west. Trevor turned on 'Channel X' as he drove, also grabbing a bottle of whiskey and taking a long drink.

Ron tapped Marcus on the shoulder, getting his attention as Trevor set down his bottle of whiskey.

"Alright Marcus, we're going to be heading to-" Ron began.

"RON! _I_ TELL HIM WHAT TO DO! **NOT YOU!** _FUCK!"_ Trevor shouted, annoyed.

Trevor grumbled a little as Ron instantly went quiet. As Trevor started driving into the farmlands of Grapeseed, he turned up the volume on his radio, struggling not to hit Ron for no reason at all.

"Now look, Mark, we know there's a Lost camp at a beach on the coastline near Mount Gordo. We're gonna go there and kill every single one of the twats, and we're getting my crank back!" Trevor announced.

"How many of them are there?" Marcus asked.

"Enough to make it a VERY good blood-orgy! Or enough to make it interesting. But either way, blood is going to be spilt!" Trevor said.

Marcus nodded in agreement as he examined the patches on his Lost MC jacket. There was a large 'Lost Motorcycle Club' logo on the back, complete with the signature white eagle. He also saw that it had a small skull and crossbones sewn into the left side, and several small wing clips on the neck area. One was yellow, another red, another black, another gold, and another silver. He couldn't even begin to think on what they meant.

Marcus also noticed that the jacket had 'Angel of Death SHITHEADS' sewn near the waist; a hint of the rivalry the Lost and the Angels of Death motorcycle club share. They've been in a war ever since the former president of the Lost Alderney Chapter, Billy Grey, restarted the AOD-Lost MC conflict back in Liberty City. But Marcus didn't really pay attention to it.

Moving on from the history lesson, Marcus saw that they were now getting close to the beach, and the El Gordo lighthouse that was on the west coast of San Andreas itself.

"Okay, we're getting close. I'm gonna pull over and we'll take a look at their camp." Trevor informed.

"Alright T.! Anything you want!" Ron replied.

Trevor parked his truck right next to the El Gordo Lighthouse. He grabbed a pair of binoculars as he, Marcus, and Ron all got out of the truck. Marcus looked down at the beach as Trevor shoved the binoculars in Ron's chest, showing that Ron was going to be watching for them. Trevor walked over to Marcus's side, curiously raising an eyebrow as he saw that not only the Lost MC was at the small camp, but also two silver-colored Granger SUV's were there; eight men in black or grey suits were standing near them.

"Well, well, well... Just who are these guys?" Trevor asked.

"Wanna get a closer look?" Marcus asked.

"You're gonna have to do it, we only got one jacket. Get down there, blend in, and find out who these cocksnots are." Trevor replied, frowning.

Marcus nodded, unfolding the stock on his Mini-Uzi as he rushed towards a nearby hiking trail that apparently led down to the beach. Ron got in a prone position and started eyeing the scene, seeing that it was possibly a drug and weapon deal going on in the camp. Trevor simply went back to his truck and got a crack pipe out of the glove compartment, lighting it and taking a few huffs as he waited to see if Marcus would need backup or not...

* * *

After about ten minutes of walking Marcus got to the beach, seeing that several different models of bikes were at the camp, along with a blue and white striped Hexer. Marcus walked over to the camp, seeing a Lost prospect sitting on a sleeping bag, smirking up at him.

"Welcome brother!" the prospect said.

Marcus only nodded back a greeting as he walked into the camp, seeing a small crowd near a silver Rumpo van that had a black stripe on it. Marcus walked to the crowd, seeing that two suited men were talking with the Lost leaders of the camp.

One of the bikers, Marcus recognized, was none other than Johnny Klebitz; president of the Blaine County chapter of the Lost MC. Apparently he was the one speaking to the mysterious suited men, most likely negotiating on a deal. Marcus also noticed that his two top guys, Clay Simons and Terry Thorpe were standing on either side of Johnny, presumably just for intimidation value.

"-Alright, that sounds like a good deal. Just don't fuck us over on this one, Pankov." Johnny warned, holding a bag of crystal meth in his hand and examining it.

"Of course we won't, mister Klebitz." Pankov replied, smirking. "Ivan Dorborovsky doesn't go back on a good deal." he added, holding a briefcase full of cash.

Marcus went wide eyed as he heard Pankov's reply, not expecting to hear something like that...

Dorborovsky was in charge of the mysterious men? He was leading them?

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I heard all of that shit before, Pankov. Just take the money and get out of here." Johnny said before looking at the two men next to him. "Clay, Terry, take some of the prospects and unload the van. I'll head back home in a bit and see what's happening with that fucking psycho Trevor." Johnny said.

"Sure thing, Johnny. We'll handle it." Terry replied.

Four or five prospects went to help Terry and Clay unload the van as Pankov and his men got back in their Grangers. Johnny walked right into Marcus, causing him to frown at accidently bumping into him.

"Move the fuck out of the away, asshole." Johnny warned.

With a smug look on his face, Marcus moved out of the way and let Johnny keep walking. But Johnny didn't go to his bike straight away; he went into a small tent. Marcus knew it was so he could shoot up some of the crystal he just bought...

Johnny K. was famous for being a druggie these days. But back in the day he was pretty serious. A badass, actually. Marcus smirked and walked over to Johnny's Hexer, seeing that Trevor was watching them from the lighthouse. While no one was looking, Marcus pulled out his knife and cut whatever lines and cables that were on the other bikes, eventually getting the fuel lines to break on all but the Hexer. Marcus smirked even more as he saw the fuel was leaking near a few propane canisters.

Marcus then got out the iFRUIT phone, seeing Trevor was already on speed-dial. So Marcus pressed it and brought the phone up to his ear.

"Alright, so you find it?" Trevor asked.

"Yeah, along with a shitload of bikers." Marcus replied.

"Good. Hang up and we'll start the party." Trevor replied.

Marcus hung up as he got on Johnny's Hexer and hotwired it, quickly driving away after he saw Trevor with a Molotov. As the silver Grangers drove away, Trevor threw the Molotov Cocktail towards the camp... it landed right in the large pool of fuel that formed under the bikes...

The Molotov caused the fuel to ignite, which in turn caused the bikes to all explode. Several Lost bikers were killed in the explosion as Marcus readied his Uzi, frowning as he saw Johnny rush out of his tent with a look of shock and fury. Johnny saw Marcus on his bike, causing him to pull out his old nine millimeter automatic pistol.

"BROTHERS! GET THIS MOTHERFUCKER!" Johnny shouted, aiming his gun at Marcus.

The surviving Lost bikers started shooting at Marcus as he drove around the camp on Johnny's Hexer. Trevor, in turn, started shooting at the bikers with his Uzi, giving Marcus some firing support.

"TAKE THIS YOU PERMACHUM PRICKS!" Trevor shouted as he kept shooting.

Ron was hiding behind the truck, too fearful of Trevor and Johnny to do anything at all...

As Trevor killed a few Lost enforcers, Marcus parked Johnny's Hexer behind the Rumpo, wide eyed as Terry and Clay ran at him, both with baseball bats in their hands. Clay struck first, trying to hit Marcus. But Marcus ducked and used the momentum to kick Clay right in the balls, sending the older biker to the ground in pain. Terry tried hitting Marcus as he was on the ground, but Marcus dodged it and ended up kicking Terry in the face, breaking his nose and knocking out several of his teeth.

Marcus got up, smirking as he saw Terry and Clay lying on the ground in pain, both groaning. But then Marcus saw that Johnny was running to the scene, holding a grenade in his hand. Marcus went wide eyed as he realized that he ran out of ammunition on his Mini-Uzi. So, Marcus did what he could only do; he got back on Johnny's Hexer and drove a distance away from the Rumpo.

Johnny put the grenade down on the sand and grabbed Terry and Clay by their shirt collars, pulling them away to the Gang Burrito van that the Lost MC had at the camp, putting the two men in cover and saving their lives. Trevor ran down to the scene, however, killing several more Lost bikers.

"FUCKING PUSSIES!" Trevor shouted, seeing that several of the bikers were simply running in fear.

Johnny, seeing that if he stayed then he'll die, opened the back doors of the Gang Burrito. He hoisted Terry and Clay into the back, both men grabbing pistols that were in the back of the van. Johnny got in the driver's seat as Terry and Clay started shooting at Trevor, trying to keep him away from their best friend. Trevor took cover behind a pile of sand bags as Johnny started driving away with Terry and Clay, feeling furious at the loss of his bike and the crystal meth.

Marcus drove back to the scene, stopping near Trevor. Marcus also noticed that all of the bikers were either dead or running scared.

"Jesus, Trevor..." Marcus muttered, wide eyed with the death and destruction.

Trevor chuckled a little, sitting on a dead body as he saw that Marcus was on Johnny K.'s bike.

"That belong to that pussy Johnny?" Trevor asked.

Marcus nodded, smiling to himself as he rubbed the fuel tank on the front, affectionately. Marcus only spared the bike because he liked the look of it, it even had the color blue, which was his favorite. "Yeah... I think I might keep it." Marcus replied.

Trevor stood up and gave a kick to the dead body he was on, simply because it was a Lost biker. Trevor walked over to the Rumpo, happily laughing as he saw that most of his crystal meth was in the back of it.

"Oh, you Lost pussies don't know how to keep good-quality, all-American, TP Inc. meth!" Trevor exclaimed.

Marcus sighed, starting the ignition on Johnny's bike, which now belonged to him. But he got off to go and get some extra cash from some of the dead bikers, even taking a nine millimeter Beretta from another.

"I think I might head back to the trailer now. You alright here by yourself?" Marcus asked.

"Yeah, yeah, I've got to take the van back anyway. Plus hunt down some of the bikers that ran off... I like it when they have a head start." Trevor replied, still examining the meth in the back of the van.

Marcus picked up the grenade Johnny left on the ground, putting it in one of the pockets on his jacket.

"That could be useful..." Marcus muttered under his breath.

As Trevor started gathering the rest of the weapons the bikers left behind, Marcus got back on his bike. But he paused, knowing that he had to tell Trevor what he found out about the mysterious suited men.

"Do you know an 'Ivan Dorborovsky'?" Marcus asked.

Trevor turned around and looked at Marcus with surprise, wondering what Ivan Dorborovsky had to do with the meeting and the Lost MC.

"He's my top competition for the drug trade in Blaine County... Why?" Trevor asked.

"I overheard those suits saying that they work for him. Dorborovsky was the one who stole your crank, not the Lost MC. Johnny was _buying_ the meth, not _selling._ " Marcus informed.

Trevor shook his head, his fury and rage building up inside of him. It boiled over and he ran over to a dead Lost prospect and he started kicking the body as hard as he could, violently.

 **"FUCKING! DOR! BOR! OVSKY! I! FUCKING! HATE! YOU!"** Trevor shouted with each kick.

Without another word, Marcus started driving away from the scene on his bike. He pushed the throttle and drove away as fast as he could, not wanting the next target for Trevor's fury to be Marcus himself...

* * *

(REVIEWS ARE LOVE!)


	4. Rockford Hills

_Two Hours Later. Route 68. Blaine County._

* * *

Marcus was riding away from the beach, getting himself on Route 68. He just wanted to take the Hexer out for a ride before he went back to Trevor's trailer. But as he drove south, he saw something in his rear-view mirror...

Several bikes were behind him, all with guys on both the driver and back seats. He saw that some of the guys on the bikes had baseball bats, knives, pistols, and even an RPG.

"Shit... Fucking Lost..." Marcus muttered, reading his Uzi.

Marcus saw one of the bikes approach, and it had a passenger with an aluminum baseball bat on the backseat. It pulled up alongside Marcus, and the passenger laughed as he started trying to hit him with the bat.

"LOST MC! LOST MC! LOST MC!" The passenger shouted, a rallying cry.

Marcus growled as he pulled up his Uzi, aiming it at the front wheel of the bike. Both the driver and the passenger went wide eyed, knowing what Marcus was about to do to them.

"Get lost." Marcus retorted.

Before the passenger could hit Marcus with his bat, Marcus shot out the front tire. Marcus then sped ahead as the driver began losing control of his bike, causing it to fall over and then hit a Towtruck in the rear bumper. The driver landed on the side of the road as passenger flew over the Towtruck and landed in the asphalt, where he was quickly ran over by one of the other Lost motorcycles.

Marcus couldn't help but smirk at the results, seeing that the Lost motorcycle was taken down by the passenger's corpse. The remaining four bikes approached him, with the RPG gunner standing up on his seat. He fired a rocket at Marcus, but it missed and hit a nearby police cruiser, sending it into the air in a fiery explosion.

Shit.

After the gunner fired off another rocket, (which missed and hit a mini-van), several Blaine County police cars arrived on the chase. Surprisingly, they were only focusing on the Lost bikers, as Marcus had already taken off his Lost jacket before he even got on Route 68, placing it in a saddlebag that was on the rear of the Hexer.

Honestly, for the first time in his entire life, Marcus Thompson actually LIKED seeing the police around.

"I never thought I'd ever say this, but 'thank god, it's the cops'." Marcus muttered to himself, wide eyed.

But as Marcus kept driving away from the scene, he felt a sharp pain in his right arm. He looked at it, seeing that he was apparently shot by one of the bikers. He saw blood pouring out of his gunshot wound, and he knew he needed medical help RIGHT NOW.

"Fucking Lost..." Marcus growled, clutching his arm, seeing the blood was landing on the Hexer and on the highway.

Marcus knew he needed to get medical help, and he couldn't go back to Sandy Shores in the meantime because he was sure the Lost would be waiting in the town for him. He knew an old friend of his down south in Los Santos...

* * *

 _"JIMMY DE SANTA, YOU GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE RIGHT NOW!"_

In Rockford Hills, Forty-something year old Michael De Santa was pissed. REALLY pissed. His wife Amanda was wanting to just have a relaxing day alone in their mansion, (what she forgot to mention was that it was having lots of sex with her tennis coach.), and she already sent their daughter Tracey out to do as she pleased.

Michael, however, wanted to spend a little quality time with his twenty year old son, Jimmy. But Jimmy was refusing, because he was in the middle of a multiplayer match on "Righteous Slaughter 5", or some video game like that. All Jimmy usually does is smoke pot, masturbate, play video games, or smoke more pot. The lifestyle choice wasn't good for his heath, and Michael always tried to get him on a bikeride or jogging or sports or something.

"Go away Michael! I'm in the middle of a match!" Jimmy replied from the other side of a locked door, disrespectfully using his father's first name.

Michael growled, kicking the door with his anger building up. He had a little bit of an anger problem...

"OPEN THIS DOOR!" Michael shouted.

"Just go away! Get laid, get high! I don't care! Just go do whatever without ME." Jimmy replied.

That's when Michael kicked open the door to Jimmy's room, breaking it off of its hinges. Jimmy had a shocked look as Michael walked over to Jimmy's video game console, picked it up, and smashed it against a wall, violently.

"WHAT THE FUCK?! YOU FUCKING PSYCHO!" Jimmy shouted.

Michael threw the remains of the console at Jimmy, a furious look was on his face.

"YOU DON'T CALL ME THAT!" Michael shouted back, furiously.

Michael then realized how his anger problem just affected his son. He sighed and shook his head, seeing Jimmy with a furious and hurt look. Michael honestly didn't know what he could tell his son...

Michael sighed and tried to speak. "Look, Jim, I-"

But Jimmy simply tossed his controller to the ground and walked out of the room, even walking out of the house. He was going to go cool down and head down to Strawberry, going to a car dealership to check out an awesome yellow SUV he had his eye on. Michael, however, sighed and did what he always does to cool down. The middle-aged father went into his kitchen and got a bottle of whiskey, then going into his living room to sit around and watch some old movies...

He also had chips and a nice Cuban cigar...

* * *

After watching "Shoulder of Orion II", Michael was getting a little bit bored. When the FIB let him turn states against criminality, he thought Los Santos would be an exciting place filled with things to do, places to see, even movies to make...

It was all just a pipe dream to him. Michael put his half-smoked cigar in an ashtray, put the cap back on his bottle of whiskey, and he turned off the TV. He figured maybe driving down to the marina and looking at his boat Jacqueline, and maybe going to Del Perro Pier afterwards.

Michael stood up and got changed into his red polo shirt with some beige shots and sandals, figuring a grey suit would obviously not be a good choice at Vespucci beach. He then walked out the front door and straight to his black Obey Tailgater sedan, unlocking it... But Michael noticed the gate to his mansion open suddenly, with a man on a Hexer quickly driving through.

"What the fuck?!" Michael asked.

He saw the wounded person crash right into his car before the bike fell over with the man, causing Michael to grab his nine millimeter Beretta out of his waistband, furious as he saw the damage to the bumper and now-broken headlight.

Michael walked over to the man, pointing the gun right in his face. But then Michael noticed the man looked familiar... He kept thinking for a moment or two before he went wide eyed, knowing this man.

Marcus Thompson.

"Mark?! What the fuck are you doing here?!" Michael asked, full of disbelief.

Marcus weakly stood up, blood now freely flowing from his arm and the fuel tank on his Hexer completely covered in his own blood. But Michael was more shocked at the fact that Marcus actually got out of jail after the bank job in Liberty City. Michael actually wanted to be the one to go to the job but Ivan and Bryan both wanted Marcus to be the one for that...

Now he knew why Ivan and Bryan ended up taking ALL of the money and running off... They wanted Marcus to end up as the scapegoat, maybe frame him as a rat or something and act like he was talking to the police.

"Can we please worry about this shit later?! I'm bleeding out!" Marcus growled.

Michael wasted no time. He put his pistol away and helped Marcus off of his driveway, quickly helping him back into his mansion. With a heaved sigh, he set Marcus down on his couch, quickly seeing it was a mistake since Marcus was bleeding all over it. Marcus coughed, still bleeding heavily.

"I- I need this to be fixed!" Marcus stated.

"What the fuck can I do?! I'm not a doctor!" Michael protested.

Amanda De Santa then walked in through the doors in the kitchen, flanked by her tennis coach Kyle. The coach had a smirk on his face after Amanda did a lesson where she 'worked her wrists and a little of her mouth' down at the tennis court. That lesson was common between the teacher and student.

Amanda gasped, almost screaming when she saw Marcus bleeding on their couch. Kyle, however, shrieked like a little girl and immediately ran out of the front door of the mansion.

"Marcus?!" Amanda asked, shocked to see him.

Marcus rolled his eyes. He never liked Amanda, and he didn't even go to Michael and Amanda's wedding. He HATED her a little, actually.

"Hey, Amanda... Still stripping? Or did you get a promotion and become a full-fledge whore?" Marcus asked.

Amanda had a furious look as she put her tennis racket on a nearby table. Her anger intensified as she saw Michael was smirking at what Marcus said. Michael and Amanda couldn't stand each other anymore, and their kids both hated their parents because of the dysfunctional lifestyle their family had.

Anyway, Amanda was pissed off enough to head straight towards the stairs, glaring at Michael before she started going up. He and Michael knew it was to pay a visit to her dear old friend "Mr. Vibrator".

"God, she's such a BITCH." Marcus said.

"I'll agree with you on that..." Michael agreed.

Marcus snickered for a few seconds before he suddenly cringed, growling with pain as he clutched his arm.

"God, this hurts... You know anyone who can patch this up?" Marcus asked.

"No, but I got a first-aid kit in the kitchen." Michael offered.

Marcus nodded, taking the offer.

"Get it, please." Marcus replied.

Michael quickly went into the kitchen. He got the first-aid kit he kept in there and walked back to the living room, seeing Marcus was still clutching his wounded arm. "You know how to sew? I don't wanna drive all the way back north with a bullet in my arm." Marcus informed.

Michael shrugged, setting the first-aid kit next to Marcus.

"I don't, but I know you do." Michael replied.

Marcus sighed, nodding in agreement. He remembered that Michael didn't know how to sew up wounds, surprisingly. But then Marcus's phone rang. He frowned and pulled it out of his pocket, seeing who was calling...

 _Trevor..._

"Who's calling?" Michael asked.

"Just the guy I'm working for in Sandy Shores." Marcus replied, shrugging.

Michael nodded and turned on his TV as Marcus answered the phone, bringing it up to his ear.

"Hello?" Marcus asked.

"Kid! Where are you? I got a few things I need to do and I could use a little backup." Trevor said.

"I'm in Los Santos, I've got shit to do." Marcus replied.

There was a long silence from the other end of the line. Marcus eventually heard a chuckling noise after a few minutes of nothing but silence.

"You're fucking a guy, aren't you?" Trevor chuckled.

"WHAT?! NO!" Marcus replied.

Trevor then proceeded to start laughing.

"You're fucking a guy? Why can't I join in?" Trevor laughed.

"No, I'm not fucking a guy!" Marcus protested.

"Whatever! You enjoy the cock fest you're in, and call me once you're back at Sandy Shores!" Trevor laughed again.

Before Marcus could protest about Trevor's assumption, Trevor hung up and disconnected the line... Marcus simply hung up and put his phone in his pocket, growling with pain as he opened the first-aid kit...

Michael, meanwhile, went into the kitchen and poured some more chips into a bowl and got another bottle of whiskey. He came out to see Marcus had a look of extreme pain as he started sewing up his gunshot wound. Michael simply sat down in a chair, lit his cigar, and started watching another old movie. "Nelson in Naples"...

* * *

After a few hours the movie was over, and Marcus successfully managed to sew up his own wound. Michael put his now-empty bowl in the sink and put the half-drunk bottle of whiskey back in the cabinet where he got it front...

But then he heard a scream.

Michael went wide eyed. He pulled out his Beretta and ran into the living room, quickly snickering at what he saw. Tracey was holding up a lamp in defense after she walked in and saw Marcus sitting on the blood-stained couch, and Marcus was curiously looking back at her.

"This your daughter?" Marcus asked.

"Daddy! Who is this guy?!" Tracey asked, worried and frightened.

Michael put away his Beretta, loving this moment.

"Tracey, put down the lamp. This is just an old friend of mine, Marcus." Michael replied.

Tracey reluctantly put down the lamp. She then frowned as she saw Michael and Marcus's matching smirks.

"What? I thought he was a robber!" Tracey protested.

"What robber would bleed all over your couch?" Marcus asked.

Tracey rolled her eyes, flashing a glare at Marcus and Michael before she started walking upstairs and going straight into her bedroom, slamming and locking the door behind her. Michael sighed and sat down next to Marcus, smiling and happy to see one of his old friends.

"So, what're you doing here man? I thought you were in jail?" Michael asked.

"I got broken out. Some people broke out this Russian guy and I got out in the confusion. I started working for this guy up in Sandy Shores. I'm back in the game." Marcus replied, choosing not to say Trevor's name.

"That's good. I'm happy to see you again... Hey, tomorrow you want to grab a beer with me? I've got to go to my shrink anyway." Michael offered.

Marcus smiled and nodded, actually wanting to see his old friend.

"Yeah, that can be good. I could use a look around the city anyway, maybe find somewhere to live." Marcus replied.

"I can help with that if you want. You can use the guest room if you want, or just crash on the couch, or just go back to wherever you came from. If Amanda has a problem then just do what I go. Don't give a shit what she thinks." Michael replied, smiling.

"Cool. Thanks Mike." Marcus replied.

Michael nodded as he and Marcus started watching TV. In truth, Marcus HATED the old movies that Michael always watched, but after the day Marcus had, he just simply didn't give a shit on what he watched...

* * *

(REVIEWS ARE LOVE!)


	5. The FIB Needs A Favor

**_(REVIEW RESPONSE: Just to be clear, I WILL NOT TOLERATE racist reviews on  ANY OF MY STORIES. I will report to the fanfiction website staff on whoever writes any racist reviews on any story I write. I admit that I usually respect opinions from other people, but NOT IDIOTIC RACIST ONES. Moonman Of White Topia, I saw your review and I also saw your profile... you should honestly feel ashamed of yourself.)_**

* * *

 _Tomorrow afternoon. Vespucci Beach, Los Santos._

* * *

Marcus patiently sat outside of Dr. Isiah Friedlander's office, waiting for Michael's therapy session to get done. Thankfully, after this, he was going to get a beer with his old friend at some bar on the beachfront.

Michael was finishing a story to Friedlander, apparently about an ill-fated robbery if he had to guess. He couldn't hear very well through the door.

"Your son, James... Is he a good kid?" Friedlander asked.

Michael looked away from the ceiling and looked straight at his therapist.

"He's a good kid?" Michael asked. "A good kid? _Why?_ Does he help the fucking poor? No. He sits on his ass all day, smoking dope and jerking off while he plays that fucking game. If that's our standard for goodness... then no wonder this country's screwed." He said.

"And what about you?" Friedlander asked.

"What about me?" Michael retorted.

Dr. Friedlander remained silent, causing Michael to lean forward in his seat and frown.

"What about me?" Michael asked, this time more firmly.

Michael saw Friedlander shrug, causing him to roll his eyes at his therapist. " _Hey..._ I didn't have the advantages that kid has. By the time I was his age, I'd already been in prison _twice_. I robbed banks. I ran whores. I smuggled dope." Michael said.

"And you consider them _achievements_?" Friedlander asked.

Michael rolled his eyes, gesturing at himself.

"These were the opportunities _I_ had. At least I took 'em." Michael defended.

"And where did these opportunities get you, Michael?" Friedlander asked.

Michael stood up, angry at Friedlander, himself, and everything else. He didn't want to enter the Witness Protection Program, but he had to for his family! But, to be honest, he always wonders to himself if it was worth it. "They got me right... _fucking here!_ The end of the road! With a big house, and a useless kid, and I'm stuck talking to you because no one else gives a shit! Oh I'm living the dream, baby! And that dream is fucked! It is... _fucking fucked_!" Michael shouted, angrily.

As Michael breathed heavily, struggling to calm down, Friedlander simply wrote something down on his clipboard and looked back up at him.

"Let it all out..." Friedlander said, calmly.

Michael sighed and calmed down, sitting back down.

"I think I just did..." Michael replied.

Friedlander sighed and looked down at his watch, silently thanking god that this session was now over. He LOVED the pay he got from Michael De Santa, though.

"Oh, well, I think that's all the time we have for..." Friedlander said. "Same time next week?" he asked.

Michael sighed and stood up, walking towards the door.

"I guess..." Michael replied with a sigh.

Friedlander also got up and walked to the door, wanting to see Michael out. Michael, however, had a feeling of unaccomplishment and disappointment, just like every other time he came into this office.

"I gotta tell you, I ain't too sure this shit is working for me." Michael said.

"Well, a sense of overriding futility is a vital part of the process. Embrace it." Friedlander replied.

Michael opened the door and started walking out of the office, not looking back at Friedlander as Marcus stood up from his chair.

"Whatever you say, doc." Michael replied, rolling his eyes.

Marcus walked over to Michael as he saw him shut the door. Michael looked back at Marcus, shrugged, and began walking out of the front door of the apartment block Friedlander's office was based in.

"Come on, let's get a drink. On me." Michael offered.

"I'll buy this time, my treat." Marcus replied.

Michael sighed and nodded, walking out the front and going around the back of the apartment block and onto the beachfront with Marcus. The two friends walked around for a bit, taking in the sights. Marcus liked the beach, and he liked Los Santos. He was seriously considering to buy a house in either Los Santos or Sandy Shores.

As Marcus kept thinking about housing, the two of them saw a drunken homeless man stumbling around on the sidewalk being made to go away by a nearby police officer. The man eventually collapsed next to a house.

"I know just how you feel..." Michael muttered, staring at the drunken man.

Marcus looked away from the man to see that Michael went to sit on a nearby bench, taking in the nice view of the beach that was in front of them. Seeing he wasn't getting a drink for the time being, Marcus went and sat down next to him, putting his feet up on a small cement wall that was in front of the bench.

As Michael took in the beach, Marcus looked behind them and saw two black men beginning to walk past. One was taller than the other, wearing a dark green t-shirt with a black undershirt. The smaller man was wearing a blue shirt with a white undershirt. He could hear the men talking about something.

"-Man, shit gotta be around here somewhere." the taller man said.

"Unless they buried it under the sand, fool. Another brilliant Lamar Davis production." the smaller man replied, sarcastically.

The taller man, now known as 'Lamar', rolled his eyes.

"Man, fuck you." Lamar replied to his friend.

Lamar and his friend stopped as they saw Michael and Marcus. Lamar went to Marcus, getting his attention.

"Something I can help with?" Marcus asked.

"Yeah, homie. Can you tell me where Bertolt Beach House is?" Lamar asked.

Marcus shook his head, but he did know the location of the Betolt Beach House. It was near the apartment block Michael and him went to.

"No, man. Sorry." Marcus replied.

The other man groaned a little, walking away from Lamar and the others.

"Man, would you come on? Fuck!" the man exclaimed, looking back at Lamar.

Michael quickly stood up, gaining Lamar and the other man's attentions. Michael then pointed at the Bertolt Beach House.

"Actually, yeah. It's that house right there, with the yellow stairs." Michael said.

"Yeah, good looking out homie. Appreciate it." Lamar replied, thankful.

"Man, get your stupid ass on! Damn!" the other man said, getting annoyed.

Marcus nodded and saw Lamar and the other man keep walking away. He could tell these two men were probably on some sort of a repo job or break-in, possibly both. Honestly, Marcus couldn't care less.

Marcus looked at Michael, handing him fifty dollars for him to buy himself a lot of beer.

"Hey, I think I might just head back to the house, is that alright with you?" Marcus asked.

"What about the beers?" Michael asked.

"Maybe tomorrow, or something. Sorry Mike." Marcus apologized.

Michael had a slightly annoyed look as Marcus stood up and started walking towards a nearby parking lot where Marcus parked his Hexer, knowing Michael could just drive back in his own car. As Marcus walked over to his Hexer and got on, putting on his helmet, he saw a man approach from the curb.

"Excuse me? Mister Thompson?" the man asked.

Marcus froze, going wide eyed as he heard the man say his last name... How did he know it?

As Marcus reached for his pistol, the man pulled out a badge, showing he was an FIB agent, Los Santos division.

"Special agent Dave Norton... Look, I'm not here to arrest you. At least not for now." the man, now known as 'Dave', said to him.

Marcus gripped his pistol that was under his jacket, curiously looking at Dave... He figured this was probably because of the prison escape less than a week ago, and Marcus figured he was about to either get arrested or shot by this FIB agent in front of him.

"I know Michael, so you can stop reaching for your gun. I'm not arresting you." Dave said again.

"What do you want?" Marcus asked, frowning back at him.

Dave sighed and walked closer to Marcus and his Hexer, crossing his arms as he stopped a short distance from him.

"Marcus James Thompson? thirty-six years old from Alderney? Mother died when you were seven? Father became a junkie when you were nine, ended up dead by a Dominican criminal? Formerly the best safecracker on the east coast, worked for Mikhail Faustin before he was killed, and ended up helping an 'Ivan Doborovsky' in a few jobs? I know who you are." Dave said.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, man." Marcus denied, casually.

Dave rolled his eyes as another man got out of a nearby FIB Buffalo. The man had a smirk on his face as he walked over to them, holding up a pair of handcuffs as if to make a point.

"You see these, Thompson? These are steel handcuffs. I'll put these on you myself if you don't do what we tell you to do. You're gonna be working for me and Dave!" the man said, smirking.

Marcus growled as Dave rolled his eyes, glaring at the other man.

"Marcus, this is agent Steve Haines, Los Santos division... And Steve, I told you I would handle this!" Dave said, frowning.

The other man, now known as 'Steve', smirked as he put away the handcuffs he was holding.

"Relax, relax..." Steve said, shrugging off Dave.

Steve went to Marcus and looked him in the eye. After a moment or two he leaned on Marcus's bike, casually, causing Marcus to frown at him.

"Get off my bike." Marcus ordered.

"Now, here's what you're gonna do, Thompson..." Steve began, ignoring Marcus's order. "We've got problems that need to be settled... YOU are gonna fix them for us." Steve said.

Marcus crossed his arms, frowning.

"And if I refuse?" Marcus asked.

"Then you get sent to a maximum security prison under the death penalty. You're gonna either get fried or injected in Boilingbroke within a week, trust me." Steve replied.

"And if you help us we'll get rid of any and all records the FIB and any police department have on you. We know that prison escape wasn't your fault. Just some criminals who wanted a professor in there and nothing more. We'll even help look for Ivan Doborovsky, if you want." Dave added.

Marcus growled, his fury building inside of him as he heard the choices... It was basically keep your freedom and work for the feds, or die in jail... After a moment Marcus got his anger under control and sighed, shaking his head with disappointment.

"I'll do it..." Marcus replied.

"Good. And for your information, I'd make sure Trevor Philips doesn't know you're working with the feds now. And make sure Michael knows." Dave instructed.

Marcus went wide eyed... How in the fuck did they know he was working with TREVOR?! As Marcus kept thinking of how they could know, Steve smirked as he kicked over Marcus's bike, sending it along with Marcus onto the pavement. Marcus growled and looked up at Steve, seeing him smirking.

"Just remember, Thompson... We're always gonna be watching you... I wouldn't try to rat us out, or we'll send a hit squad after you." Steve warned.

Marcus pushed up his Hexer and stood up, glaring at Dave and Steve as they walked back to their car. He saw them begin to start driving onto the highway as he got back on his Hexer, sighing as he did...

This was just fucking perfect... First Trevor Philips, now the FIB?

Just fucking perfect...

* * *

(REVIEWS ARE LOVE!)

 **(Yeah, I know this was a little short, but I wanted to just update it as soon as I could. I hope it's alright to all of you. ^^)**


	6. The Ballad of Marcus Thompson

_The Next Day, Harmony, Blaine County._

* * *

Marcus had a smile on his face as he walked out of the clothes store, trading in his Lost MC jacket and desert tan t-shirt. He was now wearing a nice black jacket with a black knockoff luxury shirt underneath it that said "LC Crew". He kept the jeans and the boots, though. He liked them.

He walked to the parking lot and got on his Hexer, quickly driving away from the clothes store. He drove around for a while, trying to get a good look at the areas around him since it was pretty close to Sandy Shores. He drove through the small town, driving right by Boilingbroke Penitentiary, kinda hoping the police wouldn't recognize him.

Eventually Marcus got back home to Sandy Shores. But he stopped along the railroad tracks near Trevor's trailer, going wide eyed with what he saw...

Trevor was standing on the tracks; an Azteca gang member was tied up and lied horizontally across the tracks. There was also another corpse of an Azteca gang member not far away, on fire. Marcus, incredibly confused but curious, drove over to the scene. He parked his bike next to the tracks, seeing Trevor aiming a pistol at the live Azteca gang member.

"Something going on, T?" Marcus asked, curiously.

Trevor looked up from the Azteca, smiling a little as he saw Marcus wasn't very far away.

"Oh, there you are, kid! I was wondering where you were." Trevor said.

Marcus rose an eyebrow, seeing the fear-stricken Azteca who was tied up on the railroad tracks.

"What- uh... What's going on here?" Marcus asked, a little reluctant.

Trevor gestured to the tied up Azteca, and Marcus noticed that he was so afraid that he urinated his pants.

"This, my friend, THIS is my friend Hector. And I'll be sure to tell you about all of this after Hector is sprayed from here all the way back to Los Santos by the two-o-clock southbound train." Trevor said.

Marcus rose an eyebrow, absolutely confused. But then he saw what Trevor meant. As a large train with about thirty or forty cars started heading towards them pretty fast. Trevor smirked at the Azteca as he backed up, honestly feeling a little bit sorry for what was about to happen to him.

"Adios, amigo!" Trevor said, mockingly.

The Azteca screamed, but the scream couldn't be heard because of the bandana that was tied around his mouth. Marcus cringed as the train arrived, making short work of the Azteca. He was sure that Trevor was right about him being sprayed from Sandy Shores to Los Santos. He could see the Azteca's blood and guts going for a LONG distance.

After several minutes the train finally got past the two of them. Trevor laughed as he saw that an eyeball from the Azteca landed right at his feet. So, he picked it up and smirked, jokingly winking at it.

"An eye for a fucking eye, right kid?" Trevor asked, throwing the eyeball at Marcus.

Marcus had a disgusted look as the eyeball landed in his lap. He picked it up and threw it behind his back, absolutely disgusted by how Trevor killed two people and used one of them for train-bait.

"What do you want, Trevor? Why was there an Azteca on the tracks?" Marcus asked, looking back at Trevor.

"Because they're gonna make a move on my meth site soon. Figured I'd 'politely' ask these two cocksnots about it... Hey, do you wanna come with to my meth site and I'll show you around? I've got a guy there named Chef who'll help us with the place." Trevor replied.

Marcus shrugged, nodding in agreement. He didn't really care for meth. Honestly, he hated it and its effects on people, but he felt like earning a little bit of money today before he would cut all ties with Trevor Philips and his 'company'.

"Sure, why not? You'll pay me, right? And when are we going to deal with that Dorborovsky thing?" Marcus asked.

"Of course you'll get paid, kid! And we'll deal with Dorborovsky soon. He'll be in Los Santos later, I know it. Then I PROMISE we'll kill him." Trevor assured.

Marcus nodded in agreement. He was about to head back to his bike when he felt his cell phone ring. He took a look at the caller ID, instantly going wide eyed.

 _CALLER: Steve Haines._

Trevor rose an eyebrow, pausing in his walk back to his truck.

"Kid? Something wrong? Boyfriend wanting some fucking?" Trevor guessed.

"Wait, what?! No! It's just a person calling..." Marcus replied.

"You coming to the cook site or are you gonna guzzle some more dick?" Trevor asked, bluntly.

Marcus rolled his eyes, glaring at Trevor.

"I'll swing by some other time." Marcus replied.

Trevor shrugged. He continued his walk back to his truck, picking up the eyeball he threw earlier and putting it in his pocket. Marcus had a completely disgusted look as he saw Trevor drive away, and he then brought the phone back up against his ear.

He knew Haines would want him to do something. Now.

"Thompson? It's time. Meet us down in Los Santos, over by where we first met." Steve instructed.

"Are you fucking kidding me, Haines? I've got shit to do! Can't this wait a week or two?" Marcus asked.

"Nope. Not at all. Get your ass over to the parking lot where we first met. Dave'll be there too. And no, this isn't optional." Steve replied, rudely.

Marcus growled as he hung up, really not wanting to meet with Steve Haines or Dave Norton. But he figured that if he HAD to do it, then what choice did he have? He was just hoping he wouldn't end up with a pair of cement shoes and at the bottom of the ocean because of it.

The stressed out man got back on his Hexer and drove away from the scene, getting back on Route 68 and heading back south towards Los Santos...

* * *

 _A few hours later, Vespucci Beach, Los Santos._

Marcus parked his Hexer at the parking lot where he met Steve and Dave the day before. He turned off the ignition, took off his black motorcycle helmet, and looked around, wondering where the two FIB agents were.

He got his answer as he saw a beige Oracle sedan pull up next to him. The passenger window rolled down, revealing Steve's smirking face as Dave was in the driver's seat.

"Thompson! There you are! You ready for this? I can tell you're excited." Steve asked, sarcastically.

"Fuck off, Haines. Just tell me what you want." Marcus growled.

Dave sighed and passed a file over Steve, handing it to Marcus. Marcus opened the file, raising an eyebrow as he saw a familiar face on a picture that was clipped inside.

The person was Tony Prince. AKA Gay Tony. The man was famous for running the two best nightclubs in all of Liberty City; the Maisonette 9 and the gay bar Hercules. But after the billionaire Yusuf Amir bought the franchises in 2008, Gay Tony tried retiring to a spa town near Las Venturas, but it didn't work out. He then came to Los Santos with a friend of his and together they started another Maisonette club in the city: Maisonette 10.

"Why are you giving me this?" Marcus asked.

"He needs to be taken out. A friend of a friend of a friend of ours said Prince sent some Dominican-looking guy to rough up some competition to his nightclubs. Turns out one of the guys that got roughed up is a cousin of the friend of a friend of a friend who asked for the hit. Understand?" Steven explained.

Marcus, honestly, was completely confused.

"Uh..." Marcus replied, totally confused.

Steven rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he turned and looked over at Dave.

"Told you this kid is an idiot." Steve said, bluntly.

Marcus frowned and Dave sighed as Steve looked back at Marcus, smirking.

"We left you a MP5 and a silenced combat pistol in a parking garage across the street from Maisonette 10. Hide them on you, get past the bouncers, find Prince, and kill him." Steve instructed.

"Fine. I'll do it." Marcus replied, nodding.

Steve gave a mock two-fingered salute as Dave backed up the car. Dave then drove back onto the highway as Marcus got on his Hexer, taking another look at the file. After looking it over, he put it in one of his new saddlebags and drove onto the highway, making his way towards Del Perro...

* * *

 _30 Minutes Later, Del Perro, Los Santos._

Marcus drove into the parking garage, seeing the vehicle the file said for him to go to. It wasn't anything special, just a black Washington sedan with tinted windows. Marcus parked his Hexer right next to it and walked to the Washington, opening the trunk to find an MP5 and a silenced combat pistol waiting for him.

He put the MP5 under his jacket, and the pistol in his waistband. He went to the elevator in the garage and took it to the ground level, walking out onto the sidewalk. He got a good look at Maisonette 10, honestly a little impressed with the outside décor.

The line at the door wasn't very long, just about five or six people. There was only one bouncer, too, and he was looking for ID's, not patting people down. Marcus got in line, seeing another familiar face in front of him: Brucie Kibbutz.

Brucie Kibbutz was a chop shop owner in Liberty City, but he eventually left after being offered to become the spokesman for Bull Shark Testosterone, a supplement of some kind. Marcus always suspected Brucie was a steroid junkie or something.

Marcus eventually was second in line, Brucie was in front of him. Marcus could see there was a nametag on the bouncer's shirt, saying "Dessie".

"Come on, man! You gonna let me in? I'm famous!" Brucie said.

Dessie had an annoyed look, still examining Brucie's ID.

"Brucie Kibbutz... I remember you from Liberty City. I also remember you got banned from Maisonette 9." Dessie replied, bluntly.

Brucie laughed, almost nervously as he rubbed his shoulder, jumping up and down a little.

"Not my fault me and Roman were trying to hook up with that hot security girl!" Brucie defended.

"I don't care. You and Roman were nothing but trouble back in Liberty City. You know how many times we had to clean up your messes, and how many women didn't come back to the club because of you guys? I'm not letting you in since the ban's still in place." Dessie replied.

Brucie grumbled to himself, elbowing Marcus out of the way as he walked down the sidewalk away from the club. Marcus shook his head and got his ID out of his pocket, showing it to Dessie.

Dessie examined it for a few seconds, nodding and gesturing towards the door.

"Looks clean. Go on inside." Dessie said.

Marcus nodded and was literally thanking god that he wasn't patted down as he walked inside. He went up a flight of stairs and into the dancefloor, looking around. He saw Tony's Dominican friend sitting near the bar and chatting up with a black haired woman in a pink dress, both having engagement rings on their ring fingers.

Marcus shrugged and walked up to them, seeing that they also had nametags on. Luis Lopez and Joni.

"Excuse me, where's Tony Prince? I need to speak with him." Marcus said.

"Why do you need to speak with Tony? Anyone who needs to speak with him can speak with me first." Luis replied.

Marcus didn't really know what to say, so he just said the first thing that came to mind.

"I'm an investor. I heard this franchise is one of the best back in Liberty City, and I wanna give an investment." Marcus lied.

Joni kissed Luis's cheek as she stood up, smiling at Marcus.

"I'll show you the way to his office." Joni said.

"You sure that's a good idea, J? I don't think this is a good idea. Something's off about this guy." Luis protested.

Marcus was now starting to get impatient. He just wanted to kill Gay Tony and then go back to Michael's mansion and watch some shitty TV. Joni, however, smiled back at her fiancé.

"Lighten up, L. This'll only be a minute." Joni replied, smiling.

Luis sighed, shaking his head and downing another shot of vodka as Joni led Marcus into the back rooms of the club. She had a polite smile on her face as the two of them stopped outside of Gay Tony's office. She gestured towards the door.

"He's inside. All yours." Joni said, politely.

"Thank you. I know he's just dying to hear what I have to say." Marcus replied, not joking at all.

Joni kept smiling as she walked away from Marcus, who opened the door to see Gay Tony talking to someone on the phone. Tony silently motioned for Marcus to sit down in a chair that was in front of him, which he did as Tony kept talking on the phone.

"-I'm sorry, Mr. Doborovsky, but I can't do that." Tony said to the other line.

 _Dorborovsky!_ Tony was talking to Ivan Dorborovsky! Just knowing that made Marcus frown, and actually steered him into knowing he was gonna enjoy killing Gay Tony.

"Look, Ivan, be reasonable! You know how much of this I took back in Liberty City? I already had the mob to owe money too, so why do I have to owe YOU now?!" Tony asked.

Marcus reached into his waistband, grabbing his combat pistol and hiding it under his jacket. He then saw Tony's face turn pale, just knowing that Dorborovsky gave him a threat or something like that.

"Y- Yes, Ivan... I- I'll find the money for you." Tony said, almost nervously.

Tony breathed out a heavy and stressed sigh as he hung up. He then clapped his hands together, stood up, took a deep breath, and forced a smile on his face as he looked at Marcus.

"I was told you may be an investor for Maisonette 10. What is your name?" Tony asked.

"Marcus." Marcus replied, truthfully.

Tony nodded and walked over to a large window that was in his office, smiling a little as he stared at the skyscrapers that were in the distance. Marcus also stood up, getting out his combat pistol and hiding it behind his back.

"And how much can you contribute to this franchise?" Tony asked, curiously.

Marcus revealed his pistol. Tony went wide eyed as he saw it from the reflection of the window. He turned around, wide eyed as he saw Marcus aiming the pistol straight at his face. Tony, wide eyed with horror and fear, backed all the way up to the window.

"W- Wait! Don't shoot! Is this about that whole 'Rocco' thing from back in Liberty?! O- Or Bulgarin?!" Tony asked.

Tony never got an answer. Marcus fired his gun, hitting Tony right in the left eye and causing the window behind him to shatter. Tony's body fell out of the window and landed three stories below on the street, landing right on the street where it hit a black Obey Tailgater. Marcus went wide eyed, seeing the driver was none other than Michael De Santa, who had a completely shocked and confused look as he stopped the car, got out, and looked up at the window, seeing Marcus was up there.

"Kid! What the fuck did you just do to my car?!" Michael asked, wide eyed.

"I'll explain later! Keep the engine running!" Marcus said back.

Michael noticed that Dessie was running over to the scene, pulling a small SNS pistol out from under his jacket with the intent to shoot up at Marcus. Michael got his Beretta out and shot Dessie in the neck, instantly killing him. Marcus jumped onto an awning, which made him bounce a little and he landed feet first on the street below.

Marcus ran over to Michael's car, pulling Tony's body off as he got in the passenger seat. Michael got in the driver's seat as they both saw Luis run out with a pistol 44. in his hand, going wide eyed with shock as he saw Tony and Dessie both dead.

"TONY! DESSIE!" Luis shouted, horrified.

Luis frowned as he saw Marcus and Michael in the Obey Tailgater. He knew one of them killed Tony and Dessie... Luis started running towards them, firing off rounds from his pistol 44. as he did. Michael simply shot Luis in one kneecap, and Marcus shot Luis in the other. Joni ran out of the front door, screaming as she saw Luis get shot in both of his legs.

"LUIS!" Joni screamed.

Luis growled as he collapsed onto the asphalt, seeing Michael quickly start driving away from the scene with Marcus. Joni dialed 911 on her phone as she ran to Luis, seeing his wounds...

Joni crouched next to Luis and gently held him close. Luis clutched one of his legs and set his pistol aside, seeing a couple of police cars and an ambulance arriving after a few minutes...

* * *

(REVIEWS ARE LOVE!)


	7. Complications

Marcus angrily stopped his Hexer near an oil derrick outside of town, seeing Dave and Steve both standing near their car not far away from him. In a fury about the operation he was forced to go on, Marcus immediately got off his bike and hurried over to Dave and Steve... Then he smashed one of their headlights. Steve frowned, quickly taking his AP Pistol and hitting the butt end of it against Marcus's skull, sending him falling to the ground.

"DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MUCH THIS CAR COSTS?!" Steve shouted, angrily.

Dave threw up his hands in frustration, quickly bringing them back down as he glared at Steve.

"Dammit, Steve! I told you I could handle this!" Dave said, frowning.

Steve frowned back at Dave, signaling for him to shut up. Dave shook his head, angrily staring at Steve because of what he just did to Marcus. Marcus coughed, putting his hand on the side of his head... He felt blood there.

"D- Do YOU have any fucking idea on how to get shot at by two bouncers?!" Marcus growled.

Steve holstered his AP Pistol as Dave grabbed Marcus's arm, helping him off of the ground. In a retaliation for his busted headlight, Steve walked over to Marcus's Hexer and kicked it over, seeing that it now had a dent and scratches on the right side. Marcus was FURIOUS.

"YOU MOTHERFUCKER!" Marcus roared.

Steve turned around and looked at Marcus, laughing a little. He clapped his hands together and walked over to Marcus, smirking sinisterly.

"Bahama Mamas West!" Steve informed.

He saw Marcus raise an eyebrow, still clutching the bloody part on his head. Marcus had no idea what he meant. He remembered a club called 'Bahama Mamas' back in Liberty City, but it closed for a few months due to a big shootout. And he only went there maybe once or twice.

"What?" Marcus asked.

"Bahama Mamas West! Thanks to you putting old Tony out to pasture, Bahama Mamas West is the new hangout for the FIB Los Santos Division agents!" Steve said with a smirk.

Marcus couldn't believe what he just heard... He nearly died, killed a nightclub messiah, and got another guy killed all because the FIB wanted somewhere to drink shitty liquor?! AND HE DIDN'T GET ANYTHING FOR IT?!

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" Marcus asked.

Steve laughed as he went to the driver's side of his car, getting in. Dave sighed, shaking his head as he saw Steve turn on the ignition.

"I'll call you later..." Dave said to Marcus as he got in the passenger seat.

Marcus heard Steve laugh a little as he and Dave drove away, leaving Marcus at the oil derrick...

* * *

About two hours after that Marcus got back to Michael's house, parking his Hexer in the driveway. He got there just in time to see a yellow BeeJay XL SUV drive out of Michael's garage, probably something that Jimmy bought...

But Michael nor Jimmy were driving...

An African-American man took one look at Marcus, both of them looking at each other. Both of their eyes going wide as the man sped out of the driveway, quickly leaving the scene. Marcus got back on his Hexer and quickly followed the SUV down Spanish avenue. It got down to the shopping district in Rockford Hills when Marcus saw the BeeJay pull over on the side of Eastbourne Way.

Marcus parked right behind it, pulling out his Beretta as he cautiously approached the SUV. Marcus opened the passenger door, going wide eyed at what he saw. Michael was sitting in the backseat, aiming his Beretta at the back of the man's skull, and the man's hands were raised above his head.

"Don't talk. Get in." Michael warned.

Marcus aimed his Beretta at the man as he got in the passenger seat, shutting the door as the man kept driving. Marcus went wide eyed, recognizing this man from Vespucci beach from just the other day. The man resumed driving again, and even though he had a pistol in his waistband he wasn't going to try anything, not with two men aiming guns at his head. The man looked back at Michael, frowning.

"Hey, come on, man. This was a repo job. Guy was behind on his fuckin' note." the man said.

"Unlikely, considering my son just got the car." Michael retorted. "And looking at the way you're going about this, my guess, you're working a credit fraud." he added.

Marcus made sure the barrel of his gun was pressed against the man's neck, just to make sure he wouldn't try anything.

"A credit fraud? Be serious, dude, I just work the fuckin' repos." the man replied.

"Hold on... Stop the car real fast." Marcus ordered.

The man did as Marcus asked and stopped the car. Marcus then reached into the man's pocket and started looking around, quickly pulling out a wallet from it. He opened it and looked at the drivers license as the man resumed driving.

" _'Franklin Clinton'_... Alright, I was just wondering what your name was. I'll visit your grave if you fuck up today." Marcus growled, putting the wallet on the dashboard.

The man, Franklin, rolled his eyes as he drove down on Adam's Apple Boulevard.

"I appreciate a kid who follows orders without taking responsibility." Michael commented. "Yeah, maybe one day we'll have a beer, and I'll explain to you how the world really works." he added.

"Who wanted you to do this repo?" Marcus asked.

"A car dealer, dog, by the name of 'Simeon Yetarian'." Franklin replied, truthfully.

Michael shrugged, still aiming the gun at the back of Franklin's head.

"So this businessman, he look legit to you?" Michael asked.

"Look man, it's just between him and your fucking son." Franklin retorted.

Marcus looked ahead of the car, seeing that there was a car dealership just down the street. He was sure this was the one that Franklin was going to take the truck back to.

"Don't worry. Me and mister Yetarian... we'll work this out." Michael commented.

Franklin parked the SUV in front of a small building right around the corner from the dealership and turned off the engine, letting Michael and Marcus get a good look at the dealership. Marcus pulled away his gun, holstering it as he saw Michael had this covered.

"That the place?" Michael asked.

"Yeah, that's the place, man." Franklin replied, bluntly.

Marcus noticed Michael looked a little angrier than usual. Franklin still had his hands raised as Michael pulled the hammer back on his gun, readying it to fire.

"Drive into it. Right through the fucking window, and fast." Michael ordered. "Or I'll put two rounds in the back of your skull, and do it myself." he warned.

He wanted Franklin to do WHAT?! Marcus didn't even know what to say to not let Franklin do this.

"Michael, what the hell are you doing?" Marcus asked.

"Shut up." Michael warned.

Franklin raised his hands a little higher, frowning at the situation he was currently in.

"Man, you can't be for real." Franklin replied, rolling his eyes.

"I look like a fucking joke to you? Michael asked, signalling he was ready to follow through on his threat.

Franklin turned the engine back on; Marcus actually wide eyed as he saw Franklin begin to rev up the engine.

"Man... Fuck my life, man, fuck it!" Franklin commented.

Marcus buckled up his seatbelt as Franklin quickly drove through the street. He actually screamed a little as Franklin fast approached the window, Michael smirking as Franklin drove through it and into another car at well over eighty miles an hour.

Marcus unhooked his seatbelt and opened the door, stumbling out of the SUV as he saw a man in a black shirt and pant run up to them from an office, literally horrified at what he was seeing. Marcus sat against a wall, his head banging a little as he saw Franklin and Michael get out of the SUV, rubbing their heads.

"FRANKLIN! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!" The man asked with a foreign accent.

"Mister Simeon... It's not exactly how it looks..." Franklin replied, his head hurting.

Simeon's rage started building up inside of him as he watched Michael approach Franklin, handing him over a hundred dollars. Franklin had a surprised look as Michael patted him on the back, smiling at him.

"I always trump big for a job well done. Now get out of here, kid." Michael said.

Franklin, knowing he was basically fired already because of this, did what Michael asked and quickly walked out of the hole in the wall he just made. Michael, however, cracked his neck as he saw Simeon furiously stare at him.

"You motherfucker!" Simeon growled.

Marcus grabbed a Sprunk soda can he found sitting on a desk, opening it and beginning to drink from it as he watched Michael and Simeon start fighting. After the day he just had he felt it was nice to see OTHER people get hurt a little.

After several minutes of watching the fight, and with Simeon not even managing a punch on Michael, Marcus watched as Michael pinned Simeon against the SUV, frowning at him.

"You recognize this car? Huh? Does it look like it's worth _five grand_ a month to you?" Michael asked, forcefully.

"You fucking racist..." Simeon growled.

Michael pulled Simeon away from the SUV, frowning as he opened the door and slammed it against Simeon's torso. He then pulled Simeon into a headlock, enjoying the sight of him in pain.

"I'll tell ya something, this thing's gonna need some _serious_ bodywork before it's worth five grand a month." Michael stated.

Michael let him go and then hit him with the door again, making Simeon stumble back. Marcus finished his Sprunk, tossing the can over his shoulder as he watched Michael put Simeon into another headlock.

"H- He agreed to financing, I have his signature!" Simeon defended, out of fear.

"Yeah? Did he agree to have some punk break into my fucking house?" Michael asked, bluntly.

"I- I don't know!" Simeon replied, feeling more fearful.

Michael made Simeon stand up, quickly and forcefully grabbing him by the throat. Marcus felt impressed as he walked over to Michael, watching him stare Simeon down and asserting dominance.

"That kid might be a fucking idiot, but _you_ are a fraudulent scumbag piece of shit." Michael stated.

He then pushed Simeon down to the ground, frowning as he saw the man cowering in fear. Michael pointed down at him, making sure Simeon looked up at him, which he did.

"Don't make me have to come back here..." Michael warned.

Michael turned and walked out of the hole in the wall, waiting outside for Marcus. Marcus simply shook his head at Simeon, who was still being pathetic and cowering out of fear. Marcus then sighed and walked out to Michael, seeing the older man was smirking a little.

"Feel better now?" Marcus asked him.

"Damn right I do." Michael replied.

Marcus chuckled a little as he watched Michael call a number for a taxi cab. He looked to his left and saw Franklin down the road, walking out towards Chamberlain Hills which was only a few blocks away...

He wondered if that kid would be useful eventually. He seemed like a good kid at least, which counts in his book.

But Marcus digressed as he watched a cab approach after about ten minutes. He and Michael got in the cab together, the driver being told to head back to Michael's house...

After a day of being punched and a car crash, Marcus felt pretty happy to be heading back to Michael's home.

* * *

(REVIEWS ARE LOVE!)


	8. A New Target

Two days after that whole 'incident' at the car shop, Marcus and Michael were watching some old movie on Michael's couch. However, an argument by Tracy and Amanda quickly brought the silence to a stop.

"-you're such a fucking dictator!" Tracy shouted at her mother.

Michael and Marcus were really disappointed that the silence had to be brought to an end. It was nice while it lasted, actually. Two bitches and a pot-smoking son in the house made it rare for silence.

"Why the fuck not?!" Tracy demanded to know.

Tracy was pissed because she wanted her homeless boyfriend (the latest boyfriend in a very, VERY long line of boyfriends) to stay the night at their home. Amanda, however, saw the wisdom in not letting a homeless guy who's banging her daughter to sleep under her roof.

"He is NOT staying the night, he's a bum!" Amanda retorted.

"Oh my god! I don't give a shit!" Tracy screamed.

"I don't even know why you are with him! He's a bum! He is homeless!" Amanda exclaimed.

"He's got nowhere to go!" Tracy exclaimed.

Michael had enough. He set down a bowl of chips and went to put on his flip-flops. Marcus just walked outside as Michael got himself a nice glass of whiskey and a cigar, watching him come outside as he sat down in a chair next to a lounge chair. Unfortunately both of them could still hear the mother and daughter arguing even while outside and away.

As Marcus started to play a game on his cell phone, Michael put in some earbuds and began to listen to a Phil Collins song, thankful beyond all doubt that the song was drowning out the argument. He felt relaxed, content, and even a little happy as he stared at the sky. Marcus eventually looked up from his phone after he heard a noise, and he was surprised to see a person walking towards them... The person was Franklin. Marcus saw him flash a piece sign with two of his fingers, showing he meant peace and didn't want to fight over what happened at the car dealership. Michael wondered why Franklin was here at his home, and it was kinda amusing to him to see the kid here as he took off his sunglasses and took the earbuds out of his ears.

"What do you want?" Michael asked, curiously.

"Man, I come by for that drink you offered. That's all." Franklin replied.

Michael sighed and put his sunglasses back on, leaning back against his lounge chair and stared up at the sky. He did remember that, while pointing a gun at the back of Franklin's head and made him crash into Simeon's car dealership, that he offered to have a beer with him. He didn't think the kid would come back, though.

"I wasn't really serious about that." Michael commented.

"What?" Franklin asked with a little disbelief.

Michael scoffed a little and gestured for Franklin to sit in the other chair that was next to him. Marcus nodded at Franklin, also gesturing towards the chair.

"Look... you're already here, you lost your job because of us, you might as well have a seat." Marcus reasoned.

Franklin sat down on the lawn chair in between Michael and Marcus. He could see very clearly that both of these men had experience in crime, and that they were mostly doing pretty well for themselves. He wanted things like that.

"You're not gonna rob me again?" Michael asked, sarcastically.

"Man, I never robbed you. That was just a repossession." Franklin retorted.

Michael chuckled a little and leaned back on his chair, still staring at the sky. "Okay... you call it whatever you wanna call it. I really don't care. What can I do for ya?" he finally asked him.

"Shit, I just came by to see if there's somethin' I can help you with. I see you doin' well for yourself." Franklin replied.

"Look... I'm retired." Michael sighed, putting out his cigar in a nearby ashtray.

Franklin rose an eyebrow, curiously. How could this guy already be retired? He looked old, sure, but not THAT old.

"Ain't you a bit young for the pipe, slippers, and starin' at a fuckin' sunset?" Franklin asked.

"You know, I've been in this game for a lot of years, and I got out alive. That makes me the right age." Michael replied.

Michael then sat up and took off his sunglasses, looking Franklin in the eyes with a feeling of seriousness.

"You look like a good kid. If you want my advice, you give this shit up. You work hard, screw over everybody that you love, hurt, rob, kill indiscriminately and maybe... just maybe, if you're lucky, you become a three bit gangster. It's bullshit. Go to college. Then you can rip people off and get paid for it. It's called capitalism." Michael summarized, now kicking back and relaxing some more in his lounge chair.

With a roll of his eyes, Marcus sighed. Honestly, he liked Michael as a friend, but now he really needed to go and check on Trevor. He needed to get some cash so he can get his own place to live, maybe get a better vehicle as well. Plus there was the matter of Ivan Doborovsky to attend to... Hearing all of this crap about how being a criminal wasn't worth it was against Marcus's plans for the moment.

"Hmm... So, what I saw the other day, was like when a corpse briefly reanimates itself and terrorizes everyone, right?" Franklin guessed in jest.

"I saw my friend go on a Blitzkrieg through a car dealership window, then kick the ass of some Armenian guy. That's all I managed to tell." Marcus joked.

With a frown on his face now, Michael sighed and looked back at Franklin.

"What you two saw the other day... was a guy dealing with pests." Michael said, sternly.

"I guess I never saw myself as a fuckin' pest." Franklin replied, shrugging with doubt.

"Well, then the day's lesson is all about humility... Tomorrow we'll try a training montage." Michael said, laying back down on his lounge chair.

Honestly, Franklin had no idea what Michael was talking about. Truthfully he didn't. Michael De Santa seemed pretty strange when it came to having a decent conversation...

"A training what?" Franklin asked.

"Just ignore him on that, his mind is always stuck in some god-awful eighties movie fantasy. He does that often." Marcus suggested.

"Yeah, I can see he spends a lot of time in there." Franklin said, sarcastically.

"As much as I can, guys." Michael replied to them.

Marcus then heard his cell phone ring. He got up and walked a short distance away, checking the caller ID. It was Steve Haines again, probably calling for some more FIB bullshit. As Marcus answered his phone, Michael and Franklin kept talking.

"So that's why you're here in Vinewood then, right?" Franklin guessed.

"Maybe I'm here because I'm just an idiot who thinks that imported palm trees are a good substitute for not really knowing what the fuck you're doing on this earth." Michael sighed.

Shaking his head and chuckling a little, Franklin couldn't believe the stuff Michael was saying, and a lot of it was surprising him.

"Jesus, man... You a good time, you know that?" Franklin said, being totally truthful.

Michael then sat up in his chair, getting his sunglasses and cell phone as he began to stand up.

"Tell you what... least I can do is buy you that beer." Michael smiled. "There's a little bar I like, it's not too far from here. Let's go." he added.

"Alright, I'm following you." Franklin said as he also got up from his chair.

Michael approached Marcus and saw he hung up his phone and was done with the call. Marcus turned to look at him and Franklin, curiously.

"What?" Marcus asked.

"Me and Frank are gonna go get a drink, wanna come with?" Michael offered.

"Nah, no thanks. Something came up and I gotta go. I'll stop by later, though." Marcus replied.

With a nod, Michael and Franklin turned and went inside of the mansion, intent of going out the front door. Marcus stayed where he was for a few short minutes, reminiscing on what Haines told him on the phone.

Now, thanks to the fucking FIB, he had a new target that had to be killed...

* * *

Later that day, Marcus drove his Hexer down the Western Highway, intent on getting back up to Sandy Shores. The target was a man named "Angus Martin", a crippled Lost MC senior leader from back in Alderney. This time, the full reasons behind the assassination order were actually given to Marcus. He was told that Angus helped conspire in the murder of Billy Grey, a former Lost MC chapter leader who would testify against the club.

Without Billy Grey's testimony, the FIB were unable to apprehend many of the Lost MC's Alderney leaders, including Johnny Klebitz, and as a result the FIB wanted some revenge. Now, Marcus wasn't much for helping the FIB, but he was all for killing some Lost bikers. This was going to be one mission for the Bureau that Marcus would actually enjoy.

However, as he drove, he was forced to stop on the highway. There was a lot of crashed cars and even some dead bodies all over the road. Marcus slowly rode through all of it, totally confused. What happened here? He wanted to find out...

Marcus followed the devastation until he turned off from the highway and headed towards the airport, wanting to see if there was more destruction in other areas. He went wide eyed as he saw Michael, Jimmy and Franklin in Amanda's convertible, which was smoking from the engine.

"Guys! What the fuck?" Marcus asked as he rode up to them.

"Mark! Hey, there you are! What're you doing here?" Michael asked.

"I followed the trail of breadcrumbs... and by breadcrumbs, I mean a bunch of dead people and crushed cars! What the fuck happened?!" Marcus asked.

Michael got out of the convertible and Franklin scooted over into the driver's seat. Jimmy also climbed out from the backseat and went for the passenger seat, causing annoyance to Franklin as he only got a facefull of ass as a result, and not in a good way.

"That little shitbag I call a 'son' decided to sell my yacht, WITHOUT me knowing about it." Michael frowned. "Jacqueline's gone but we got Jimmy out of there intact, I guess." he added.

"Who's 'Jacqueline'?" Marcus asked.

"Don't bring that up, he's still missin' his yacht!" Franklin joked.

Michael brushed him off as he saw his taxi finally arrive. He sighed, mourning the loss of his yacht as he walked towards the taxi.

"I'll see you guys later." Michael told them before he got in the backseat. He then told the driver he wanted to go back to Rockford Hills, and pretty soon they were off and out of sight.

Marcus approached Franklin and Jimmy, crossing his arms.

"Look, you're not dead, and if you helped try to get that yacht back then you're probably capable. Here's my number, we should hang out sometime." Marcus offered.

"Sure, dawg. That could work out." Franklin replied.

"Okay, cool. Give me your phone, I'll add my number in it." Marcus said.

Franklin did as Marcus asked and handed Marcus his phone. Marcus added in his number in Franklin's contacts, and then proceeded to hand the phone back to him. With a nod, Franklin drove into a nearby Los Santos Customs garage, intent on fixing the convertible with some money Michael gave him. Marcus got back on his Hexer and drove off, leaving the scene...

* * *

After a few hours Marcus made it to the outskirts of Sandy Shores. He parked his bike near the railroad tracks, trying to remember the important details about Angus Martin, and also trying to think of how to kill him...

He knew Angus Martin usually hung out at some bar on the outskirts of the town, and that he sometimes had Johnny Klebitz with him, or one of the other lieutenants. Even with a lot of firepower, Marcus knew that it would be pretty difficult without help...

He knew exactly who to call for this one... even though he'd probably regret it.

Marcus sighed and dialed Trevor Philips's number on his phone and waited through the rings. There was a lot of ringing on the other end before it was finally answered.

"Kid! There you are! I was beginning to wonder where you are! Los Santos treat your sexual needs okay? How's the boyfriend?" Trevor joked.

"Trevor, enough. I've got something you might be interested in: Fucking up the Lost some more. I'm out by the railroad tracks if you wanna meet up, you're gonna have to bring some weapons. You interested?" Marcus offered.

"Oh, you kidding me?! I'd love to! Just let me get Wade out of his cage and then I'll join ya!" Trevor replied.

"Wait, what?!" Marcus asked, shocked at what he heard.

Before Marcus could give Trevor an earful of how shocked he was, the meth dealer hung up on him. Marcus sighed, just repressing any memory of it. He REALLY didn't want to imagine anything like THAT...

In any event, Marcus went back to his bike and sat down on it, waiting for Trevor to show up with everything they needed. He knew it was going to be a long day again...


	9. Lost and Damned

After an hour or two Trevor finally showed up in his truck. Marcus got off of his bike and walked towards him, getting to him as he turned off the engine.

"There you are! What took you so long?" Marcus asked.

"Give me a break, kid! There was a bunch of guns I like that I felt like sharing with ya! It was hard to choose! But I managed to get some good 'cannons' in the trunk..." Trevor smirked.

Trevor then walked to the rear of his truck, pulling down the tail gate. Marcus walked back there as well, going wide eyed with surprise at seeing the amount of firepower that Trevor owned. There was also a dead body in the back, but Marcus, surprisingly, was already pretty used to seeing dead bodies around Trevor Philips by this point, so he didn't really complain this time.

"Holy shit! Where did you get all that?" Marcus asked, admiring the guns.

"Been saving it all for a rainy day." Trevor replied as he pulled several weapons to them.

Marcus saw many different types of weapons in the back of Trevor's truck. M-16's assault rifles, M1911 pistols, AK-74 assault rifles, PSG-1 sniper rifles, Mac-10 submachine guns, Molotov Cocktails, and even an RPG-7 rocket launcher were among the many weapons in the truck.

Basically, Marcus felt like a kid in a candy store. He knew that these weapons, since they were owned by Trevor, have probably committed very terrible things over the years, but he still really wanted some. Marcus got basically one of everything aside from the PSG-1's, the RPG-7 and the M-16's.

"Yeah, I can work with these..." Marcus said, readying his AK-74.

"That's what I like to hear!" Trevor agreed as he readied a Mac-10.

There was going to be a lot of the Lost at the bar Angus Martin was. They were going to need to be ready for a massive firefight against the Lost MC. There wasn't going to be any surprise attack like last time. This time, they'd have to charge in head on...

* * *

At the Yellow Jack Inn, dozens of Lost bikers were having a party. Many half-naked and fully naked women were giving the bikers whatever they needed or asked for, and many other bikers were drinking or telling stories to each other.

Angus Martin was with Johnny Klebitz, Terry Thorpe and Clay Simons. The four men were reminiscing on old times back in Liberty City... They missed the old days a lot...

"Remember the times you and Jim stole those Angels of Death flags, and bikes, and all of that other shit?" Angus asked.

"Yeah, Angus, I remember..." Johnny chuckled. "Yeah, we did that a lot... We were young and foolish but those AOD shitheads never could catch us... Jim was really good at pissing them off." he added.

With a small chuckle and a feeling of remorse, Angus lowered his gaze to the ground.

"Jim was a good guy... I wish he was still here. But that's what happens to us all eventually, right? _'Lost but not forgotten'_." Angus commented, referencing the Lost MC's mourning saying.

Johnny nodded in agreement, sighing as well. One of the reasons he turned to using crystal meth was because of losing Jim. He was like a brother to him, he WAS a brother to him... but he's been dead for a long time now.

"Yeah..." Johnny replied, soon raising a bottle of Piswasser beer to make a nostalgic toast to their long-dead brother. "Jim Fitzgerald. Lost, but not forgotten." he said, looking at the three men next to him.

Clay, Terry and Angus all also raised their bottles, clanking them with Johnny's. The four men quickly downed their beers before setting the empty bottles on the counter for the bartender, Janet, to deal with.

"Idiots..." Janet grumbled to herself as she picked up the bottles to throw away. Honestly, there was trashcans in the bar, why not use them? She hated when these bikers show up...

* * *

Johnny, Clay, and Terry all walked out of the Yellow Jack Inn, Angus quickly wheeling behind them in his wheelchair. Angus was intending to go with them back to Stab City, their Lost-controlled trailer park, but things soon changed. A naked and extremely attractive blonde woman giggled as she went to Angus, sitting down on his lap.

Honestly, since he was paralyzed form the waist down, he couldn't feel anything that he really wanted to. However, he was thankful that he could still use his hands, which was more than okay by his standards. Angus smirked at the woman and started putting his hands on her body, drawing some laughter from his friends ahead of him.

"You 'getting some', man?" Terry asked.

"You know it, brother. Go on ahead, I'll get back sooner or later." Angus chuckled, not looking away from the woman.

Johnny smirked back at his friend before he, Terry, and Clay soon headed off, all three getting on their bikes. Johnny had gotten himself a new bike after that 'incident' with Trevor Philips and the other guy back at the lighthouse; a dark blue Lycan.

The three bikers soon left the area, soon starting to head down the length of Route 68 and heading home. Unbeknownst to them, Trevor and Marcus were now ready to go to the Yellow Jack Inn and kill as much of their Lost MC brothers and sisters as they could.

"You ready to do this?" Trevor asked.

"Yeah. But leave Angus Martin to me..." Marcus requested.

Trevor put a rocket in his RPG-7, nodding at Marcus as he began walking towards the Yellow Jack Inn.

"Yeah, yeah! I got it! Now come on, kid! We got a bunch of Lost cunts to murder!" Trevor ordered.

Marcus sighed at Trevor Philips. Honestly, could this Canadian meth dealer get any worse? Wait, scratch that, he didn't want to jinx it... In any event the two criminals soon made it to the Yellow Jack Inn, seeing Angus and the naked blonde woman head inside, probably to have a private session in the bathroom. Trevor aimed his RPG at a large group of bikes and vans, smirking as he saw many Lost bikers were near there.

"HEY! PUSSIES! LOOK OVER HERE!" Trevor shouted.

The Lost bikers looked at Trevor's loud announcement, going wide eyed as they saw he was aiming an RPG at them. Trevor fired a rocket at the bikes and vans as several bikers dived away from it, but many were killed when the rocket destroyed all of the vehicles. Trevor then dropped the RPG and he started walking towards the scene, readying his Mac-10.

Several dazed Lost bikers stood up and readied their guns, trying to fight Trevor, but they were all easily cut down by Trevor's sub machine gun. Marcus hurried towards the front door of the Yellow Jack Inn, readying his M1911 as he went inside...

* * *

Angus and the woman were hiding in a bathroom, shocked at hearing all of the noise outside. Angus readied a small snub nosed 38. revolver as the woman quickly grabbed her clothes and ran out the back door...

With a cold sweat forming on his face, Angus slowly wheeled his chair towards the door, hearing footsteps outside. He cautiously fired a round through the door, quickly hearing a thump. He wheeled towards the door and opened it, finding that the person he shot wasn't an attacker... it was one of the prostitutes.

"Fuck!" Angus cursed, looking around.

But then, out of nowhere, a bullet hit Angus right in his shoulder, sending him falling back out of his wheelchair. Marcus appeared from behind a nearby wall and he walked into the bathroom.

Marcus saw Angus was reaching for his revolver, which fell out of his hand. But Marcus quickly got it and tossed it away, soon aiming his M1911 at Angus's forehead. He could see Angus was just glaring back at him, not even looking afraid of his upcoming death...

"Hello, Angus. You pissed off a lot of people..." Marcus sarcastically said to him.

"Go to hell." Angus frowned.

Marcus hit Angus in the face with the butt of his pistol, making the Lost biker unconscious. Getting an idea on how to do the job for the FIB, and also to send a message to the Lost MC, Marcus holstered the revolver and his pistol in his waistband, hoisting Angus over his shoulders and headed out of the bathroom...

Johnny Klebitz was going to have a reason not to fuck with Marcus Thompson after this...

* * *

After the fight at the Yellow Jack Inn, Trevor and Marcus captured plenty of Lost MC guns and money, also taking Angus Martin captive. But also, as a result, Trevor was permanently banned from the bar itself, although he didn't really care at the moment. Right now they were at McKenzie Field, preparing to deal with Angus...

Hoisting Angus into a small Cuban 800 aircraft that Trevor borrowed from one of his gunrunning contacts, Marcus knew what they were going to do was going to be all over the news. Angus began to regain consciousness as Marcus pulled in Angus's wheelchair, while also aiming his M1911 at the cripple's face.

"Don't try anything." Marcus warned.

Angus just glared at him as Trevor got into the pilot's seat, activating the engines. Angus just settled into his seat as Trevor drove the plane down the runway and quickly took off, much to Marcus's satisfaction.

"Get us over Stab City as quick as you can, T." Marcus said.

"Roger that! How's our lovely passenger doing back there?" Trevor asked, looking back at the two occupants.

"Oh, him? Trust me, in a few minutes, he's not gonna be complaining..." Marcus replied, jokingly.

Trevor chuckled to himself as they soon were above Sandy Shores. Marcus looked back at Angus, still aiming the pistol at him as he grabbed the biker's wrist, pulling it close to him. He temporarily holstered his gun as he grabbed a nearby marker, beginning to write something on Angus's arm.

"What the fuck, man?" Angus asked.

"Just a message for your friends..." Marcus replied, soon finishing the message.

Angus snatched his hand back as Marcus tossed away the marker. Now all he could do was wait... But suddenly, Marcus lowered the passenger seat and opened the passenger door as they approached the airspace over Stab City.

Then, Marcus grabbed Angus's wheelchair and tossed it out, much to Angus's surprise. He knew what was about to happen... Marcus then grabbed Angus's shirt collar, frowning at him.

"Don't worry... You'll be lost but not forgotten, right?" Marcus taunted.

Before Angus could even get a reply out of his mouth, Marcus threw the crippled biker out of the plane! Marcus quickly closed the passenger door and then looked through the window, wanting to see the show...

* * *

Johnny came out of his trailer after shooting up some meth with Ashley. He was stumbling around a little, high out of his mind from the drugs he used. He saw Terry and Clay working on Terry's bike, so he made himself regain his composure as he stumbled over towards them.

"Terry, Clay, what're you working on?" Johnny asked.

"The engine block on my chopper is fucking up... I'm trying to figure out what's going on with it." Terry said, unable to look at Johnny since he was too focused on his work.

The three bikers then heard a noise, along with several other nearby Lost bikers. They looked at one of the dirt roads that was in the trailer park, seeing a mangled wheelchair was sitting on it. It appeared to end up there in some sort of an impact...

"What the fuck?" Clay asked.

"Wait... Fuck! That's Angus's chair!" Terry realized.

The three bikers then heard a distant scream that was getting louder. They looked up, and much to their shock and horror they saw their friend Angus Martin quickly falling from the sky.

"ANGUS!" Johnny shouted, feeling horror.

Angus then quickly landed on the roof of a nearby truck, quickly destroying it as he went through and landed on the seats in a bloody and broken mess... he died on impact. Terry, Clay, Johnny and several other bikers quickly hurried to the scene, quickly getting Angus off of the truck and calling an ambulance...

But they all knew he was dead already...

Johnny crouched next to Angus after noticing something on his arm, pulling up his jacket's sleeve. He frowned with fury and shock when he saw a message was written on his arm.

 _"A gift for Johnny K: I hope you enjoy seeing your old friend Angus like this, he screamed like a bitch when he fell from the plane. Best regards from the guy who also killed a lot of your guys and stole your bike."_

As the ambulance arrived, along with plenty of news crews and police officers, Johnny felt a deep sorrow at the loss of another good friend of his... he wanted to kill the fuckers who did this.


	10. Marriage Counseling

Marcus was soon back in Rockford Hills after coming back to LS and informing Steve Haines that he succeeded in murdering Angus Martin. Trevor wanted him to stay in Sandy Shores for a little longer, but Marcus told him he had to go inform the people who ordered Angus's death. He didn't dare tell Trevor that it was the FIB who ordered it, since he knew Trevor hated the government and would probably decapitate him if he found it out.

Driving his Hexer onto Michael's driveway, Marcus turned the engine off and noticed a gardener's truck in the front, along with a red car he didn't see before. He simply shrugged and walked to the front door, stopping in place when he noticed something strange...

Two tennis rackets were sitting against the porch, completely unattended. He just figured that Amanda and her tennis coach were using a different pair of rackets, so he didn't think twice about it. He then saw Michael pull up in his car and park it nearby, where he proceeded to get out and walk over to Marcus.

"Hey man." Michael greeted.

"Yo." Marcus greeted.

Michael went inside the house and proceeded to look for Amanda, not finding her or his kids in the living room or anywhere downstairs. He went back outside to Marcus, proceeding to light a cigarette. He was kind enough to give another to Marcus, lighting it for him as they both relaxed.

Unfortunately, Michael noticed the tennis rackets... he soon threw his cigarette on the ground, frowning with disbelief and anger. Marcus noticed that he suddenly became angry, but he had no idea why.

"What is it?" Marcus asked, standing up and putting out his cigarette as well.

He didn't get an answer as Michael stormed inside, looking pretty furious over something. Marcus followed him out of curiosity, wondering what the hell pissed him off.

"Amanda! AMANDA!" Michael shouted as he began to head up the stairs. "You better not be! Not in my house!" he added after that, causing more confusion to Marcus as he had no clue what he meant.

Michael and Marcus soon got upstairs to see Amanda standing in front of her and Michael's bedroom with the door closed. Marcus went wide eyed when he saw the only thing Amanda was wearing was their blanket from their bed...

He finally put two and two together. She was fucking the tennis coach behind Michael's back, and the coach was basically being paid for it from the sessions. That'd probably piss anyone off...

"Fuck you, Michael! Go away!" Amanda frowned, trying to dismiss her husband.

"I'm paying that turd a hundred and fifty bucks an hour to fuck my wife?! In my own bed?!" Michael demanded to know, quickly getting past her as he went inside of their bedroom.

Marcus and Amanda followed Michael inside of the room, finding the tennis coach, Kyle. He was standing on top of Michael and Amanda's bed, fearful over the infuriated husband. The humorous part of this was that the only thing Kyle was wearing was leopard skin underwear, although Michael was obviously not in the mood for humor.

"Michael, go away!" Amanda demanded.

"Woah! I'm sorry, bro! She said you had an arrangement!" Kyle defended.

Kyle backed away off the bed when Michael stormed towards him, causing Kyle to begin to be cornered.

"You and I are gonna have an arrangement... I'm gonna arrange your fucking funeral!" Michael told him.

"I'm really sorry, bro! I'll comp the session, I promise!" Kyle pleaded, as if giving Michael back his money would calm him down at all.

If anything, Michael was even more infuriated as a result of that offer.

"You're a dead man!" Michael shouted, walking towards him.

"Fuck!" Kyle exclaimed, now even more fearful.

In fear, Kyle quickly hurried towards the nearby balcony windows that were in the room. He pushed open the doors and, astonishingly, jumped right off the side of the balcony. Michael, Marcus and Amanda were shocked at that and they went to look over the railing to check on him. Seeing he was still alive, the three soon hurried out of the room and quickly down the stairs...

Franklin was pushed aside by Kyle, much to his confusion as he saw the man heading for a red car in Michael's driveway. He went to the opened front doors, seeing Amanda was trying to stop Michael from doing something. Marcus was there too, but he was just watching for the moment.

"Hey, you! Stop him!" Amanda exclaimed, hoping Franklin would stop Michael from doing anything drastic.

"What's up, man?" Franklin asked as the three approached.

Michael was too pissed off to deal with Franklin right now. He hoped the kid wouldn't get in the way, though.

"Get out of my way." Michael ordered.

"Mike, you need to relax! We'll kill him, but you need to calm down!" Marcus stated.

"What the fuck is going on?!" Franklin finally asked.

Amanda quickly made a motion of her hands, dismissing him and trying to show that nothing was wrong and that nothing happened.

"Nothing happened! It was a misunderstanding!" Amanda tried to lie.

"She fucked a prick in my bed!" Michael stated.

Franklin was surprised by this as Michael and Marcus quickly pushed themselves past Amanda and went outside, seeing Kyle was busy trying to start his car. Michael wanted him to get a head start, he wanted to chase the fucker down.

"You're bullshittin' me?" Franklin asked, wide eyed.

"It wasn't like that!" Amanda tried to lie.

Michael pointed at Marcus and Franklin, intent on making Kyle pay but wanting to find out if either of them wanted to help with that.

"You guys in?" Michael asked.

"Fuck it, I'm in." Franklin replied.

"Yeah, me too. Let's get that motherfucker." Marcus agreed.

The three men soon began walking away from the door, which turned into a sprint for the nearest vehicles when they saw Kyle was already speeding out of the driveway. Amanda watched with shock, walking out to the sidewalk.

"Just don't kill him!" Amanda shouted.

Amanda then hurried back inside of the mansion and slammed the door behind her, almost feeling ashamed. Michael and Franklin had to take Michael's gardener's truck as Marcus got onto his Hexer.

Marcus quickly went ahead of the truck and followed Kyle's car while Michael pulled the truck out of the driveway. He still felt very pissed off about everything that was happening.

"You okay, homie? What happened?" Franklin asked.

"Guy bounced my wife is what happened!" Michael frowned.

"Which guy?"

"Guy I'm paying to teach her tennis!"

Franklin actually started laughing a little at that, not realizing that the guy who jumped out of Michael's balcony was Amanda's tennis coach! The fact that his wife was banging the tennis coach was a pretty cliché thing, honestly.

"The tennis coach? Aw that's fucked up, man!" Franklin laughed. "You rich dudes, homie. You know, back in the hood, man, we only gotta watch out for the mailman, dog!" he added, still laughing quite a bit.

Unfortunately, Michael failed to notice any humorous aspects of some other guy fucking his wife behind his back, along with the fact that said fucking occurred in his own bed.

"Yeah... I'm a cuckold, a snob and a fucking cliché." Michael frowned. "Anyway, we'll follow Mark and we're gonna see where this prick is gonna head to." he said after that.

Michael and Franklin followed Marcus, who in turn was following Kyle up through the streets in Vinewood Hills. However, they were cut off from following Kyle because some prick in an RV pulled out of his driveway, causing the three men to be forced to stop as Kyle managed to get past and keep going.

"Asshole! Move the fuck out of the way!" Marcus shouted, pulling out his Beretta and aiming it at the driver out of annoyance and anger.

Thankfully, the RV driver was frightened enough by having a gun aimed at him that he moved out of the way pretty quickly. Michael, Franklin and Marcus sped on, still looking for Kyle.

The men soon got to a dirt road that led to the underside of a few stilt houses up somewhere in the hills, right up in a canyon. Michael pulled up to Marcus, intent on finding out if he found where Kyle was.

"The fucker is down the road a ways. Come on, let's get him." Marcus said.

Michael nodded as Marcus proceeded to slowly drive down the road, making sure to check for Kyle. Michael and Franklin followed behind him at the same speed, eventually noticing Kyle's car parked under one of the houses.

"There's his car, but where is the son of a bitch...?" Marcus asked himself, looking at the car.

Suddenly, Marcus heard Michael shout something.

"HEY! ASSHOLE! You ran off before we could settle our debts!" Michael shouted.

Seeing that Michael was leaning his head out the window and looking up at a stilt house that the car was parked under, Marcus could easily make out that the tennis coach was leaning against one of the railings on its porch, still only in his leopard underwear.

"Michael, bud! You got the wrong idea, man!" Kyle replied from the porch.

Marcus parked his bike near Michael's gardener's truck, turning off the engine for the meantime and pushing out the kickstand as he saw Michael and Franklin get out of the truck. He then hurried over to them, seeing Michael was now pointing at the stilts keeping the house up.

"Frank, Mark, there's a winch in the back of the truck. Tie the cable to one of those supports over there." Michael ordered.

What?! He wanted to tear down the house?!

"Michael, are you kidding me?! Is this even his house?! Dude, you have to think this through!" Marcus stated, wide eyed.

"The prick deserves it... now do it!" Michael told him.

Reluctantly, Marcus and Franklin went to work. Kyle ran over to the other side of the deck, looking down at the men with shock as Michael looked up at him, angrily.

"I told you I'd comp the session, bud!" Kyle said.

"Well, there were a lot of freaking sessions, _bud_!" Michael retorted, mocking Kyle by adding in the bud at the end. "I'm thinking you were working on more than just her backhand!" he added.

"'Mandy's backhand has come a _long_ way, bro! Sometimes it's got to get worse to get better!" Kyle retorted, as if he thought that sentence would help calm Michael down.

Michael gestured a fist up at Kyle as Marcus and Franklin kept tying the cables to the support. They knew this was crazy, but this guy did pretty much deserve to have his house torn down. If this was his house, that is...

"Yeah, well, maybe I should come up there and practice _my_ backhand... on your FACE!" Michael shouted.

"Oh, bud, your negative energy is seriously bringing me down..." Kyle commented, a little annoyed.

"Oh, I hope it is, _bud!_ " Michael retorted, mockingly saying bud again.

Michael looked back at Franklin and Marcus, and he was pleased to see that they were almost done tying the cable to the support. They finished tying it pretty quickly after this. This piece of shit tennis coach was gonna pay!

"Michael, we got it hooked up." Marcus informed.

Now angrier and more full of vengeance than ever, Michael looked back up at Kyle with a feeling of fury for what he did with Amanda.

"You come into my house, take my money, and nail my wife, ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!" Michael roared.

Marcus walked back over to his Hexer and got on it, turning the engine back on. He couldn't help but notice that a woman was now standing next to Kyle, talking on a cell phone before she walked out of sight. He reasoned that it was either a spouse or family member of his, or maybe the actual owner of this house. In any event, he didn't really put much thought in that.

"I'm gonna stick up my hand and say that was uncool, bud..." Kyle told Michael, actually sticking one of his hands up as if apologetically. "My bad. Seriously..." he added.

"How fucking magnanimous!" Michael said, giving a sarcastic clapping. "May I please offer you my applause... YOU FUCKING MOTHERFUCKER!" He shouted, furious at how this guy was trying to act like he was sorry.

"Dude!" Kyle tried to say to him, absolutely taken aback by what was happening.

Michael started walking back to the truck with Franklin getting in the passenger seat, ducking under the cable as he went around. He angrily looking up at Kyle as well.

"Hey, we'll see how you like it when someone fucks with _your_ shit!" Michael commented.

Kyle finally realized what Michael and his buddies intended to do. The wrench was tied on the support cables, Michael was getting in the driver's seat, he was gonna tear the fucking house down from Vinewood Hills!

"Hey, wait! You got the wrong idea, pal! Fuck!" Kyle exclaimed, shocked at how vicious Michael De Santa was.

Marcus quickly moved his bike out of the way and parked near the gardener's truck, absolutely shocked by the events he was about to witness. He knew Michael had a temper, but this was completely fucking insane! He watched as Michael stepped on the gas and sped several feet down the road, being stopped by the winch tied on the support beam. Suddenly, the beam started to bend, causing the entire house to list a little and the deck to start cracking.

Kyle wisely decided it was time to get the hell out of there, so he ran with the woman and they went inside the house and out the front door...

Michael kept stepping on the gas for a little longer, causing the support beam to bend even more and severely endanger the structure of the house, and also causing even more of the deck to break off and splinter.

Finally, after a little more effort, the support beams completely gave out and the entire deck and backside of the house fell down the side of Vinewood Hills! Marcus watched with wide eyes as he saw the back half of the house fall, along with Michael and Franklin quickly driving away from the scene. Marcus decided to turn and quickly get out of there as well, not wanting the cops to get after him because of something like this.

* * *

Marcus drove for a while, making sure he wasn't followed as he arrived back at Michael's house. He really didn't want to get arrested for pulling down a house... He pulled his Hexer up onto the driveway, getting off as he saw Michael and Franklin driving up in the gardener's truck. Marcus was confused as to why he saw a bunch of bullet holes on the truck, so he quickly ran up to them.

"Guys, what the fuck?! Why is there a bunch of bullet holes in the truck?!" Marcus asked.

"It's a long story, nothing to worry about." Michael replied with a casual shrug.

"'Nothing to worry about'? Martin Madrazo isn't someone to worry about?" Franklin asked, bluntly.

Martin Madrazo?! The crime boss?! He was so famous that even Marcus knew who he was from his days in Liberty City! He dominated a few crime rings there after Mikhail Faustin and Dimitri Rascalov were killed. He managed to get the blessing from the Mafia's Commission to do it, but he still was a big player back in Liberty! He was NOT a man to be trifled with.

"Wait, what about Madrazo?! What the fuck did you do, Mike?! Did he own that house?!" Marcus demanded to know.

"No, but I think that one of his girls did. The bullets are from some of his boys we ran into... Like I said, it's nothing to worry about. I'll handle it." Michael replied, calmly.

Marcus threw his arms up in frustration, but quickly made himself calm down. Freaking out about pulling a mob boss's house off of a hill wouldn't solve anything, no matter how much Michael pretended to. But seriously though, he just hoped that Kyle got the message to leave Amanda and Michael the fuck alone.

Michael started walking up his porch steps, turning back to look at Marcus and Franklin with a feeling of gratitude.

"Hey, thanks for the help out there today, guys. I had no idea it would get that hot." Michael said, referring to the shootout he and Franklin went into with Madrazo's men.

"Shit, pulling houses off the hillside sure has a weird way of fucking with people." Franklin commented.

"Well, I guess Franklin's right... Fucked up as it was, I actually kinda had fun. I just hope it'll not get messed up in the long run, though." Marcus shrugged.

Michael sighed and shook his head. Kyle deserved every bit of what he had coming to him and more, but Michael still thought he was fully retired.

"Yeah, well, I was through with all that shit... I don't know what the hell's going on." Michael commented.

Suddenly, the three men heard a vehicle approaching up the driveway. They turned and saw a black SUV approaching, causing them all to frown in the suspense. Who the hell were these guys that were inside?

"Well, Mike... we're about to find out." Marcus replied to Michael's comment.

The SUV stopped in the driveway and four people got out. Two of them appeared to be some random Hispanic goons, one of them had a baseball bat and a T shirt from Liberty City. The other two people that got out was a middle-aged Hispanic man in a blue suit, and the other was a woman with a leopard shirt and black jacket. The man frowned and angrily approached them.

"Do you know who I am? Do you know who I am?! Do you?!" the man demanded to know.

"No!" Michael frowned.

"What about the other two? Hmm? Do either of you know who I am?" the man frowned.

Franklin had a minimal amount of information on the man, but he thought he knew who he was. Marcus, on the other hand, knew exactly who this angry person was. It freaked him out a little too...

"I know who you are..." Marcus said.

"Good. I know who Michael is, I know where he lives. But what about you two? Who are you?" the man frowned.

"I'm Franklin." Franklin said.

"Marcus Thompson." Marcus said.

The man shrugged and then held out his hand.

"Licenses..." the man ordered them to give him, frowning.

Hesitantly, Marcus and Franklin reached into their pockets and got out their licenses. They handed them out to the man, but the goon with the baseball bat snatched them away from them, causing them to frown. He then proceeded to hand the licenses to the man, and the man closely examined them before he looked back up at the two men. He also didn't give the licenses back, just putting them in his own pocket.

"Now, Franklin and Marcus... maybe you two could help Mr. De Santa here, explain to him who I am?" the man asked.

"You're Martin Madrazo..." Marcus stated.

"Good boy. Now, maybe one of you give him a little of the background." the man, Martin Madrazo, ordered.

Franklin reluctantly walked down the steps and looked back up at Michael, seeing that the older man was a little disturbed that the crime boss was a real person, and also a real threat. Now he felt a little stupid for thinking he wasn't anything major...

"Man, Mr. Madrazo... Mr. Madrazo is a _'legitimate businessman'_ who was _'wrongfully accused'_ of running a Mexican-American gang, and a narcotics ring. But the charges were dropped because the witnesses came up... _'missing'_." Franklin explained, using a hell of a lot of metaphors.

"Smart kid..." Martin complimented, actually kinda impressed that Franklin knew that much about him. Marcus only rolled his eyes, knowing he knew more than Franklin.

Martin then turned to his goon with the bat and took it from him, looking back at Michael with a deceiving smile on his face.

"Now, Michael... I have a question for you." Martin said, trailing off.

Suddenly, Martin pushed Marcus out of the way, causing the man to fall onto the ground as Martin hit Michael in the arm with his baseball bat, HARD. Marcus looked up at the scene, wide eyed as he saw Michael laying on the ground and painfully clutching his arm.

"Why did you pull an architecturally, _significant_ , modernist wonder home down the hillside in Vinewood Hills?!" Martin demanded to know.

"I thought the owner was banging my wife..." Michael painfully groaned.

"Well that was a strange house for a _tennis coach_..."

"I wasn't thinking straight..."

"Heh, clearly..."

Marcus saw one of the goons was aiming a Beretta at them, but Martin gestured to him and made him lower it. Martin threateningly looked at Franklin, seeing him raise his hands a little bit to show he wasn't going to be a threat.

"Well... Natalia will need a hotel while you finance the repairs, won't she?" Martin asked Michael, handing the baseball bat to one of the goons.

"Sure..." Michael agreed, deciding it was best to just do as Martin said. He knew that if he didn't then it would bring harm to him and his family...

"Good. And I'm guessing here that the rebuild will be somewhere in the... two point five million range?" Martin guessed, setting the price that Michael owed.

"Of course..." Michael sighed, reluctantly agreeing with the price.

Martin nodded and he started walking away. Natalia frowned and walked up to Michael, spitting on him while he was down. Soon she and the goons walked back to the SUV where Martin was waiting, and they got inside as Marcus got himself off the ground. Franklin went to help up Michael, surprised about what just happened and now a little bit worried about his friend.

"Damn, you alright?" Franklin asked.

"Never better..." Michael sighed, sarcastically.

"You sure? Dude, you might need to get that checked out." Marcus suggested.

"I'm fine..." Michael sternly told him.

The three men were exhausted after the previous events, but now they had to raise 2.5 million dollars... how?

"Now what?" Franklin asked.

"Looks like I'm gonna have to postpone my retirement... Fuck!" Michael sighed. "Ah, guys, I'm mortgaged up to my eyeballs... Look, I only know one way to make money. I'm gonna have to give an old friend a call. Lester... I think he's still in town somewhere." he also said.

Marcus's eyes went wide when he heard that. Lester Crest was in town and he was still alive?! What the fuck was he doing in Los Santos?! He hadn't heard anything about or from him since that day in Liberty City!

"Lester's alive?! Holy shit! He's here?!" Marcus asked.

"Yeah, he's here, I think... I'm not a hundred percent sure. We might have to track him down." Michael replied. "Look, just give me some alone time for now. Mark, check into a hotel or something. I need time to think..." he added.

"Sure, Mike... I'll do that. But let me know when you find Lester." Marcus said.

Franklin nodded at Michael and gave him a fist bump, deciding to do as Michael said and leave him for the time being.

"For sure, dog." Franklin nodded.

The two men began to walk away as Michael walked up the steps to his porch, cursing to himself about everything that happened. How couldn't he see that Kyle wasn't the owner of that fucking house?! He felt like an idiot! He went inside and shut the doors behind him, having a LOT to think about now.

Franklin got in his car and he drove out of the neighborhood, just simply awaiting the phone call for when he would be needed again, plus he had some shit in Chamberlain Hills to get out of the way. Marcus got on his Hexer and drove out onto the streets, hoping that Michael would be able to find Lester Crest, but even he knew it would be a massive undertaking to accomplish that...

Either way, Martin Madrazo was gonna get his money, or beat 2.5 million dollars out of the three of them before killing them...


	11. Taken

Marcus was sitting on his Hexer near Little Seoul, contemplating everything that happened yesterday with Martin Madrazo. He sighed to himself, knowing that he was going to have to help Michael find a way to come up with the two million dollars. He hoped that Michael was having luck in finding Lester, because he sure as shit needed some money to pay off Madrazo.

Chances were that Lester was alive somewhere, but he didn't expect him to actually be living in Los Santos. He decided that, while he still had to wait for Michael's call on whether he found Lester or not, he had to start making some money. Maybe Trevor would be a good source... as much as it pained him to admit it. He decided to suck it up, pray Trevor wouldn't do anything disgusting, and he started the engine on his Hexer.

Trevor Philips, while a disgusting freak of nature, had to have some work for him... and god help him if Trevor was in a bad mood.

* * *

 _ **"RONALD! GET THE FUCK OVER HERE! MY ASS IS GETTING A RASH!"** _

Ron hurried out of his trailer, actually tripping on the bottom steps of his porch and getting himself covered in dirt. He didn't care about that as he hurried over towards Trevor's trailer with a bottle of lotion, some toilet paper, gauze, hand sanitizer, baby oil and a big box full of latex gloves. He would need every bit of those items pretty soon... However, he stopped in his tracks when he saw Marcus driving up from down the street, parking his Hexer behind Trevor's truck.

Marcus got off and noticed Ron standing outside of Trevor's trailer with all of those things in his arms, causing him to curiously raise one of his eyebrows as he approached him.

"What's up, Ron?" Marcus asked.

"U- Uh... not much, not much." Ron replied, nervously.

Ron flinched when he heard Trevor shouting again. Marcus, truth be told, also flinched as well from surprise.

 _ **"RON! YOU BETTER GET HERE QUICK! I'M DRIPPING ALL OVER THE PLACE!"**_

Whimpering a little, Ron hurried away from Marcus and quickly hurried over towards Trevor's trailer. Marcus watched him hurry inside, but also heard a lot of shouting and breaking glass afterwards from Trevor's anger. He then got back onto his Hexer and started the engine, proceeding to drive away from the neighborhood. Trevor wouldn't be a good source of work that day, so he'd have to try something else.

But then a black van approached Marcus at an intersection, making Marcus be forced to stop right in his tracks. He frowned and pulled out his Beretta, aiming it at the truck out of annoyance.

"Get the fuck out of the way!" Marcus ordered.

That's when another black van stopped behind him and several men got out of it and the van in front of him. All of them were wearing biker clothing, with many Lost MC patches... Several Lost arrived on bikes, and pretty soon Marcus had at least twenty men aiming automatic rifles and pistols at him. He knew there wasn't anything he could do at this point, but hope there would be a way to escape soon.

A biker approached Marcus from behind and quickly took his pistol from him while aiming another at the back of his head.

"Don't do anything stupid, cocksucker." the biker warned.

Marcus then had a sack placed over his head and was brought off of the bike. He felt his hands be bound behind his back before he was suddenly thrown in the back of one of the vans... They were all gonna pay. He didn't know how, he didn't know if he'd get out of this alive, but he wanted to kill as many of them as he could before he was killed...

* * *

Marcus didn't know how long it had been since he was taken by the Lost MC. An hour? Two? Six? He just knew he was driven for a long time before being brought inside of some building somewhere. He had been beaten a lot, and there was a lot of blood pouring from his mouth and nose... But he had a decent idea of what this was about.

 _Angus Martin._

Suddenly, the sack on Marcus's head was pulled off. The next thing he knew was that he was staring at the face of a very angry Johnny Klebitz. He could tell Johnny was tripping on meth on account of the death of another friend. Johnny grabbed Marcus's hair and lifted his head up, and then he proceeded to punch him in the face hard enough that Marcus was truthfully surprised that his jaw didn't break.

Johnny let go of Marcus's hair and let him lower his head. He frowned even deeper when he heard Marcus slowly begin to laugh at all of this. Did none of this faze the bastard that murdered his friend?

"Dude... you hit like a bitch." Marcus taunted, laughing as well.

"You killed Angus... You killed one of the Lost, you killed my _brother_. Did Trevor put you up to this shit?" Johnny growled.

Marcus looked up at Johnny and he spat in his face, succeeding in pissing off the Lost president even more than before. Marcus laughed again as he thought this attempt to intimidate him was kinda funny.

"Nope. And even if he did then I sure as shit wouldn't tell a meth head fuck like you, Johnny. But if it makes you feel any better, I kinda enjoyed throwing a pussy biker like him out of the plane." Marcus taunted with a smirk.

If he wasn't angry before, Johnny was furious at this point. He was tempted to just put a bullet in this guy's head, but he wanted him to suffer for what he did to Angus and the others in the Lost MC. He looked at two other Lost bikers in the room with a frown on his face.

"Beat the shit out of this cocksucker until he begs. I want him to hurt for what he did to our brother." Johnny told them.

The two bikers nodded as Johnny proceeded to walk out of the room. Marcus frowned at the bikers, one putting on a knuckle duster and the other grabbing a wooden baseball bat. Marcus knew this would be a long, _long_ day...

"Let's get this over with." Marcus frowned.

The pain within Marcus only grew as the two bikers began kicking his ass. The biker with the bat hit repeatedly hit him in his kneecaps and his stomach, the one with the knuckle dusters repeatedly punched him in the face and the back of the head, even after he gave Marcus two black eyes and broke his nose...

Yep... this would be a _long_ ordeal, and Marcus knew it.

* * *

Marcus had no idea how long exactly he was in the room. A week? Two weeks? Three? He kept getting hit so hard and often that it was getting very difficult for him to be able to tell time. The bikers beat him every day, and they fed him only slop, but he somehow managed to keep holding out. Those tweakers weren't going to get the better of him.

Suddenly the door to the room opened again. Marcus looked up to see Johnny K. with Terry and Clay, all appearing very pissed off and angry. Strangely, there was also a man with them, a man wearing a white suit and very dark sunglasses.

"Here he is, Pankov. He won't tell us if Trevor Philips sent him to the meeting at the lighthouse or not. But he did kill one of my friends..." Terry said.

"I don't care what happened to your friend. Philips is a cranked out maniac, but I believe he did have help. This man, Thompson, he was there at the lighthouse." Pankov guessed.

Marcus frowned when he saw Doborovsky's goon standing in the room. If he wasn't tied up then he would've torn the fucker's throat out... Pankov took off the sunglasses he was wearing so he could get a better view of the prisoner. He knew who Marcus Thompson was, Mr. Doborovsky told him all about what happened in Liberty City eight years ago...

"Mr. Thompson, it is good to see you. How are you enjoying your stay here with these Lost gentlemen?" Pankov sarcastically asked with a smirk on his face.

"Eh, room service is shit. The bikers don't call me _'daddy'_ when they hit me, there isn't a chick here to give me a lapdance and I feel a bit cold in here. So... _no_ , I'm not really enjoying my stay." Marcus replied sarcastically, frowning as well.

"Charming, Mr. Thompson. There bikers could learn a thing or two about manners from you." Pankov said, actually being serious.

Johnny frowned and cocked his automatic 9 millimeter pistol, frowning and pressing it to the side of Marcus's head. He wanted nothing more than to pull the trigger and avenge Angus, but he still needed to break him. Marcus didn't even flinch when he had the pistol pressed to the side of his head, and the only thing he did in response was just look up at Johnny, frowning at him.

"Do it..." Marcus challenged.

"Mr. Klebitz, put away your gun. I will have to inform Mr. Doborovsky that Mr. Thompson here isn't still in prison, and I'm certain he would want him alive." Pankov instructed.

"Awww... does he miss me?" Marcus sarcastically asked.

The men suddenly heard gunshots coming from outside, followed by an explosion or two. Terry and Clay picked up some shotguns from nearby as Johnny and Pankov backed away to the other side of the room. A Lost biker hurried into the room, clutching a gunshot wound he received on his stomach.

"G- Get Johnny out of here..." the biker strained to say.

"What the fuck is going on out there?!" Clay demanded to know.

The biker never got a chance to explain. A masked man with an SMG fired a round at the biker's head from a short distance away, immediately killing him as the brains and blood from him sprayed on Pankov and Johnny. The four men panicked, and they fired wildly at the door as they hurried across the room and to an emergency exit on the other side. Marcus struggled to get out of his restraints as the four men escaped into a van at the back of the building and quickly drove away.

Marcus was trying so hard to get out of his restraints that he accidentally made the chair and himself fall over as several heavily armed men rushed into the room. Two of the men aimed their SMG's at him as the others cleared the room. None of that surprised him more than seeing Steve Haines and Dave Norton walking into the room, and Steve had a smirk on his face.

"Thompson! Finally found ya, you fucker!" Steve smirked as he approached him.

"We've got a few minutes before the local PD show up, we should hurry." Dave advised.

Marcus just blinked with a feeling of confusion and surprise. The FIB rescued him?! What the fuck was going on?!

"How did you find me?!" Marcus demanded to know.

"C'mon, you being taken in the _middle of the street_ of that shithole town? How could we _not_ find ya? Oh, and I ran Johnny K's new license plate after we found out he took ya, then we tracked him here. You're welcome." Steve said, cockily.

Dave went to lift Marcus right side up again, then he untied his restraints. Marcus managed to stand up despite the wounds the bikers gave him, and he rubbed one of his wrists as he walked a few steps from the chair.

"What, you want me to kill another person?" Marcus guessed.

"Eventually. But right now we don't want you being a biker bitch. We need you up and on your feet. We'll call you in a few weeks, but until then I'd go and see what your buddies De Santa and Clinton are doing. A little birdie told me they're about to do something big." Steve stated.

" _'Big'_...? What do you mean by that?" Marcus asked.

"You'll see... I'm just hoping Michael comes to his senses. Robbing a jewelry store in broad daylight isn't going to end well..." Dave sighed.

Robbing a jewelry store?! What the hell was Michael thinking?! Wait... This had to be one of Lester's ideas! Dammit! He knew Lester was alive, and he was thankful for that, but he needed to get back to Los Santos!

"Your bike is outside... Johnny tried to steal it back but a few of my guys chased him off. Now get on it, get the fuck out of town, and don't think of getting in any more trouble like this until we call you." Steve warned, elbowing Marcus out of the way as he began to leave.

Marcus scowled at Steve as Dave began to follow him out, along with the FIB agents. Marcus picked up a new Beretta from a dead biker, frowning as he limped out of the building. He saw he was somewhere outside of Sandy Shores, somewhere in the desert. Thankfully Steve was telling the truth, as he did see his Hexer not far away. Marcus made his way around the bodies of the dead bikers and he got to his Hexer, starting the engine and beginning his journey back south to Los Santos...

He hoped Michael hasn't already started the jewelry heist... He wanted in on that action.


End file.
